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Af?~* 


I 


QUEEN    MAB: 


WITH 


NOTES. 


BY 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 


SECOND  EDITION. 


NEW- YORK: 
WRIGHT  &   OWEN. 


MDCCCXXXI. 


Tr/R. 

Art 


TO  HARRIET 


*     *     *     *     * 


Whose  is  the  love,  that  gleaming  through  the  world, 
Wards  off  the  poisonous  arrow  of  its  scorn  ? 

Whose  is  the  warm  and  partial  praise, 

Virtue's  most  sweet  reward  ? 

Beneath  whose  looks  did  my  reviving  soul 
Riper  in  truth  and  virtuous  daring  grow  ? 

Whose  eyes  have  I  gazed  fondly  on, 

And  loved  mankind  the  more  ? 

Harriet !  on  thine : — thou  wert  my  purer  mind ; 
Thou  wert  the  inspiration  of  my  song ; 

Thine  are  these  early  wilding  flowers, 

Though  garlanded  by  me. 

Then  press  into  thy  breast  this  pledge  of  love, 

And  know,  though  time  may  change  and  years  may  roll, 

Each  flowret  gathered  in  my  heart, 

It  consecrates  to  thine. 


fU  u 


304(f53 


vtv  <k*     O  U  1 U  0  O 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2012  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://archive.org/details/queenmabwithnoteOOshel 


NOTICE    OF    SHELLEY 


BY    THE    AMERICAN    PUBLISHERS. 


If  intellectual  powers  of  the  first  order,  if  a  disinte- 
restedness that  was  pushed  almost  to  generous  romance, 
if  social  virtues  that  endeared  him  to  every  one  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact,  if  purity  of  heart  and  sweet- 
ness of  temper  and  uprightness  of  life — if  these  entitle 
to  a  place  among  the  amiable  and  the  gifted  and  the 
noble-hearted,  that  place  belongs  to  Peecy  Bysshe 
Shelley.  Born  and  educated  amidst  the  affluences  of 
British  aristocracy,  cradled  (so  to  speak)  in  orthodoxy 
and  conformity  and  titled  privilege,  he  was  a  democrat 
and  a  heretic.  His  father,  Sir  John  Shelley,  disinhe- 
rited him  on  account  of  his  opinions,  or  rather  of  his 
honesty  in  expressing  them ;  and  the  world  continued  a 
persecution  against  him  for  the  same  heinous  crime  ;  a 
persecution  which  did  not  terminate  with  his  death,  but 
pursued  even  the  memory  of  one,  whom  mankind  in  the 
mass  were  too  hypocritical  to  applaud,  or  perhaps  too 
gross  to  appreciate.  He  was  arraigned,  tried,  and  con- 
victed of  heterodoxy ;  and  that  was  enough  to  justify,  in 
the  world's  eyes,  the  murder  of  his  reputation. 


304053 


VI         .  NOTICE   OF   SHELLEY. 

Yet  the  bitterest  of  his  enemies  dare  not  accuse  him 
of  selfishness,  of  ingratitude,  of  unkindness,  of  any  mo- 
ral delinquency.  His  only  offences  were  against  ortho- 
dox opinions ;  his  crimes  were  the  crimes  of  conscien- 
tiousness ;  the  same  crimes  that  brought  to  Socrates  the 
bowl  of  hemlock,  and  to  Jesus,  probably,  the  death  of 
the  cross. 

Let  one  who  confesses  himself  to  have  been  once  so 
strongly  prejudiced  against  Shelley,  as  to  have  refused 
even  to  visit  him,  sketch  his  character.  We  quote  from 
Landor,  the  well-known  author  of  "  Imaginary  Conver- 
sations :" 

"  Shelley,  at  the  gates  of  Pisa,  threw  himself  between 
Byron  and  a  dragoon,  whose  sword  in  his  indignation 
was  lifted  and  about  to  strike.  Byron  told  a  common 
friend,  sometime  afterwards,  that  he  could  not  conceive 
how  any  man  living  should  act  so.  '  Do  you  know  he 
might  haye  been  killed  1  and  there  was  every  appearance 
that  he  would  be!'  The  answer  was.  'Between  you 
and  Shelley  there  is  but  little  similarity,  and  perhaps  but 
little  sympathy  ;  yet  what  Shelley  did  then,  he  would  do 
again,  and  always.  There  is  not  a  human  creature,  not 
even  the  most  hostile,  that  he  would  hesitate  to  protect 
from  injury  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  his  life.  And  yet 
life,  which  he  would  throw  forward  so  unguardedly,  is 
somewhat  more  with  him  than  with  others ;  it  is  full  of 
hopes  and  aspirations,  it  is  teeming  with  warm  feelings, 
and  it  is  rich  and  overrun  with  its  own  native,  simple  en- 
joyments. In  him,  every  thing  that  ever  gave  pleasure 
gives  it  still,  with  the  same  freshness,  the  same  exube- 


NOTICE    OF    SHELLEY.  VU 

ranee,  the  same  earnestness  to  communicate  and  share  it.' 
'By  heaven !  I  cannot  understand  it !'  cried  Byron  ;  '  a 
man  to  run  upon  a  naked  sword  for  another  !'  ****** 
Innocent  and  careless  as  a  boy,  Shelley  possessed  all  the 
delicate  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  all  the  discrimination 
of  a  scholar,  and  united  in  just  degrees  the  ardour  of  the 
poet  with  the  patience  and  forbearance  of  the  philoso- 
pher. His  generosity  and  charity  went  far  beyond  those 
of  any  man,  I  believe,  at  present  in  existence.  He  was 
never  known  to  speak  evil  of  an  enemy,  unless  that  ene- 
my had  done  some  grievous  injustice  to  another  :  and  he 
divided  his  income  of  only  one  thousand  pounds  with  the 
fallen  and  afflicted.  This  is  the  man  against  whom 
much  clamour  has  been  raised  by  poor  prejudiced  fools, 
and  by  those  who  live  and  lap  under  their  tables.  This 
is  the  man  whom,  from  one  false  story  about  his  former 
wife,  I  had  refused  to  visit  at  Pisa !  I  blush  in  anguish  at 
my  prejudice  and  injustice,  and  ought  hardly  to  feel  it  as 
a  blessing  or  a  consolation,  that  I  regret  him  less  than  I 
should  have  done  if  I  had  known  him  personally." 

As  a  poet,  Shelley  has  been  greatly  and  justly  ad- 
mired.  There  is  much  of  original  and  sterling  beauty 
in  all  his  poetical  works.  He  may,  indeed,  with  some 
reason,  be  taxed,  in  common  with  many  of  the  most  ad- 
mired among  poets,  with  obscurity  and  overstraining  of 
the  imagination.  But  there  is  so  much  of  redeeming  in 
the  beautiful  thoughts,  chaste  images,  and  noble  senti- 
ments scattered  through  his  productions,  that  one  forgets 
to  dwell  upon  their  blemishes. 


Vlll  NOTICE  OF  SHELLEY. 

Yet,  it  is  not  as  a  poet  that  Shelley's  character  appears 
in  its  fairest  light.  It  is  as  a  high-minded  reformer,  as 
an  unbending  lover  of  truth,  as  an  enthusiastic  friend  of 
human  improvement.  He  was  one  of  those  pure  beings 
who  seem  to  be  born  some  ages  before  their  time  ;  whose 
high  aspirations  after  excellence  scarcely  belong  to  this 
generation.  His  poetic  dreams  had  reference  to  that  fu- 
ture— to  use  his  own  beautiful  words — 

When  reason's  voice, 
Loud  as  the  voice  of  nature,  shall  have  waked 
The  nations :  and  mankind  perceive,  that  vice 
Is  discord,  war,  and  misery:  that  virtue 
Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony : 
When  man's  maturer  nature  shall  disdain 
The  playthings  of  its  childhood  :  kingly  glare 
Shall  lose  its  power  to  dazzle  :  its  authority 
Shall  silently  pass  by  :  the  gorgeous  throne 
Shall  stand  unnoticed  in  the  regal  hall, 
Fast  falling  to  decay ;  whilst  falsehood's  trade 
Shall  be  as  hateful  and  unprofitable 
As  that  of  truth  is  now. 

He  sought  to  make  a  Heaven  of  Earth ;  and  truly  if  such 
as  he  only  were  the  Earth's  inhabitants,  we  might  have 


one 


The  little  poem,  now  re-published,  is  especially  valua- 
ble on  account  of  the  notes  affixed  to  it.  It  has  borne 
all  the  virulence  of  servile  criticism ;  and  has  come  from 
the  ordeal  with  an  even  increased  popularity.  Yet  pos- 
terity alone  will  "do  ample  justice  to  its  merits. 


QUEEN  MAB. 


i. 

How  wonderful  is  Death ! 
Death  and  his  brother  Sleep  ! 
One,  pale  as  yonder  waning  moon 

With  lips  of  lurid  blue ; 
The  other,  rosy  as  the  morn 

When  throned  on  ocean's  wave 

It  blushes  o'er  the  world : 
Yet  both  so  passing  wonderful ! 

Hath  then  the  gloomy  Power 
Whose  reign  is  in  the  tainted  sepulchres 
Seized  on  her  sinless  soul  ? 
Must  then  that  peerless  form 
Which  love  and  admiration  cannot  view 
Without  a  beating  heart,  those  azure  veins 
Which  steal  like  streams  along  a  field  of  snow, 
That  lovely  outline,  which  is  fair 
As  breathing  marble,  perish? 
Must  putrefaction's  breath 
Leave  nothing  of  this  heavenly  sight 

But  loathsomeness  and  ruin? 
Spare  nothing  but  a  gloomy  theme, 
On  which  the  lightest  heart  might  moralize? 
Or  is  it  only  a  sweet  slumber 

Stealing  o'er  sensation, 
Which  the  breath  of  roseate  morning 
Chaseth  into  darkness? 
Will  Ianthe  wake  again, 
And  give  that  faithful  bosom  joy 
Whose  sleepless  spirit  waits  to  catch 
Light,  life,  and  rapture  from  her  smile  ? 


10  QUEEN   MAB.  [l. 

Yes !  she  will  wake  again, 
Although  her  glowing  limbs  are  motionless, 

And  silent  those  sweet  lips, 

Once  breathing  eloquence 
That  might  have  soothed  a  tiger's  rage, 
Or  thawed  the  cold  heart  of  a  conqueror. 

Her  dewy  eyes  are  closed, 
And  on  their  lids,  whose  texture  fine 
Scarce  hides  the  dark  blue  orbs  beneath, 

The  baby  Sleep  is  pillowed : 

Her  golden  tresses  shade 

The  bosom's  stainless  pride, 
Curling  like  tendrils  of  the  parasite 

Around  a  marble  column. 

Hark !  whence  that  rushing  sound  ? 

'Tis  like  the  wondrous  strain 
That  round  a  lonely  ruin  swells, 
Which,  wandering  on  the  echoing  shore, 
The  enthusiast  hears  at  evening : 
'Tis  softer  than  the  west  wind's  sigh : 
'Tis  wilder  than  the  unmeasured  notes 
Of  that  strange  lyre  whose  strings 
The  genii  of  the  breezes  sweep : 

Those  lines  of  rainbow  light 

Are  like  the  moonbeams  when  they  fall 
Through  some  cathedral  window,  but  the  teints 
Are  such  as  may  not  find 
Comparison  on  earth. 

Behold  the  chariot  of  the  Fairy  Queen ! 
Celestial  coursers  paw  the  unyielding  air ; 
Their  filmy  pennons  at  her  word  they  furl. 
And  stop  obedient  to  the  reins  of  light : 

These  the  Queen  of  Spells  drew  in. 

She  spread  a  charm  around  the  spot, 
And  leaning  graceful  from  the  ethereal  car, 

Long  did  she  gaze,  and  silently, 
Upon  the  slumbering  maid. 

Oh !  not  the  visioned  poet  in  his  dreams, 
When  silvery  clouds  float  through  the  wildered  brain. 
When  every  sight  of  lovely,  wild,  and  grand 
Astonishes,  enraptures,  elevates, 


I.J  QUEEN   MAB.  11 

When  fancy,  at  a  glance,  combines 
The  wondrous  and  the  beautiful, — 
So  bright,  so  fair,  so  wild  a  shape 

Hath  ever  yet  beheld. 
As  that  which  reined  the  coursers  of  the  air, 

And  poured  the  magic  of  her  gaze 

Upon  the  maiden's  sleep. 

The  broad  and  yellow  moon 

Shone  dimly  through  her  form — 
That  form  of  faultless  symmetry ; 
The  pearly  and  pellucid  car 

Moved  not  the  moonlight's  line : 

'Twas  not  an  earthly  pageant : 
Those  who  had  looked  upon  the  sight, 

Passing  all  human  glory, 

Saw  not  the  yellow  moon, 

Saw  not  the  mortal  scene, 

Heard  not  the  night-wind's  rush, 

Heard  not  an  earthly  sound, 

Saw  but  the  fairy  pageant, 

Heard  but  the  heavenly  strains 

That  filled  the  lonely  dwelling. 

The  Fairy's  frame  was  slight,  yon  fibrous  cloud, 
That  catches  but  the  palest  tinge  of  even, 
And  which  the  straining  eye  can  hardly  seize 
When  melting  into  eastern  twilight's  shadow, 
"Where scarce  so  thin,  so  slight;  but  the  fair  star 
That  gems  the  glittering  coronet  of  morn, 
Sheds  not  a  light  so  mild  so  powerful, 
As  that  which  bursting  from  the  Fairy's  form, 
Spread  a  purpureal  halo  round  the  scene, 

Yet  with  an  undulating  motion, 

Swayed  to  her  outline  gracefully. 

From  her  celestial  car 

The  Fairy  Queen  descended, 

And  thrice  she  waved  her  wand 
Circled  with  wreaths  of  amaranth  : 

Her  thin  and  misty  form 

Moved  with  the  moving  air, 

And  the  clear  silver  tones, 

As  thus  she  spoke,  were  such 
As  are  unheard  by  all  but  gifted  ear. 


12  QUEEN    MAB.  [i. 

FAIRY. 

Stars !  your  balmiest  influence  shed! 
Elements  your  wrath  suspend ! 
Sleep,  Ocean,  in  the  rocky  bounds 
That  circle  thy  domain ! 
Let  not  a  breath  be  seen  to  stir 
Around  yon  grass-grown  ruin's  height, 
Let  even  the  restless  gossamer 
Sleep  on  the  moveless  air ! 
Soul  of  Ianthe !  thou, 
Judged  alone  worthy  of  the  envied  boon, 
That  waits  the  good  and  the  sincere ;  that  waits 
Those  who  have  struggled,  and  with  resolute  will 
Vanquished  earth's  pride  and  meanness,  burst  the  chains, 
The  icy  chains  of  custom,  and  have  shone 
The  day-stars  of  their  age ! — Soul  of  Ianthe ! 
Awake!  arise! 

Sudden  arose 
Ianthe's  soul ;  it  stood 
All  beautiful  in  naked  purity, 
The  perfect  semblance  of  its  bodily  frame 
Instinct  with  inexpressible  beauty  and  grace, 
Each  stain  of  earthliness 
Had  passed  away,  it  re-assumed 
Its  native  dignity,  and  stood 
Immortal  amid  ruin. 

Upon  the  couch  the  body  lay 
Wrapt  in  the  depth  of  slumber ; 
Its  features  were  fixed  and  meaningless, 

Yet  animal  life  was  there, 
And  every  organ  yet  performed 
Its  natural  functions :  'twas  a  sight 
Of  wonder  to  behold  the  body  and  soul. 
The  self-same  lineaments,  the  same 
Marks  of  identity  were  there : 
Yet,  oh,  how  different !  One  aspires  to  Heaven, 
Pants  for  its  sempiternal  heritage, 
And  ever-changing,  ever-rising  still, 

Wantons  in  endless  being. 
The  other,  for  a  time  the  unwilling  sport 
Of  circumstance  and  passion,  struggles  onj 


I.]  QUEEN   MAB.  13 

Fleets  through  its  sad  duration  rapidly: 
Then,  like  an  useless  and  worn-out  machine, 
Rots,  perishes,  and  passes. 

FAIRY. 

Spirit !  who  has  dived  so  deep ; 
Spirit !  who  has  soared  so  high ; 
Thou  the  fearless,  thou  the  mild, 
Accept  the  boon  thy  worth  hath  earned, 
Ascend  the  car  with  me. 

SPIRIT. 

Do  I  dream?  Is  this  new  feeling 
But  a  visioned  ghost  of  slumber  ? 

If  indeed  I  am  a  soul, 
A  free,  a  disembodied  soul, 

Speak  again  to  me. 

FAIRY. 

I  am  the  Fairy  Mab  :  to  me  'tis  given 
The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep : 
The  secrets  of  the  immeasurable  past, 
In  the  unfailing  consciences  of  men, 
Those  stern,  unflattering  chroniclers,  I  find : 
The  future,  from  the  causes  which  arise 
In  each  event,  I  gather :  not  the  sting 
Which  retributive  memory  implants 
In  the  hard  bosom  of  the  selfish  man ; 
Nor  that  extatic  and  exulting  throb 
Which  virtue's  votary  feels  when  he  sums  up 
The  thoughts  and  actions  of  a  well-spent  day 
Are  unforeseen,  unregistered  by  me : 
And  it  is  yet  permitted  me,  to  rend 
The  veil  of  mortal  frailty,  that  the  spirit 
Clothed  in  its  changeless  purity,  may  know 
How  soonest  to  accomplish  the  great  end 
For  which  it  hath  its  being,  and  may  taste 
That  peace  which  in  the  end  all  life  will  share. 
This  is  the  meed  of  virtue ;  happy  Soul, 
Ascend  the  car  with  me ! 

The  chains  of  earth's  immurement 
Fell  from  Ianthe's  spirit ; 
2 


14  QUEEN   MAR. 

They  shrank  and  broke  like  bandages  of  straw 
Beneath  a  wakened  giant's  strength. 

She  knew  her  glorious  change, 
And  felt,  in  apprehension  uncontrolled, 

New  raptures  opening  round ; 
Each  day-dream  of  her  mortal  life, 
Each  frenzied  vision  of  the  slumbers 

That  closed  each  well-spent  day, 

Seemed  now  to  meet  reality. 

The  Fairy  and  the  Soul  proceeded ; 
The  silver  clouds  disparted ; 
And  as  the  car  of  magic  they  ascended, 
Again  the  speechless  music  swelled, 
Again  the  coursers  of  the  air, 
Unfurled  their  azure  pennons,  and  the  Queen 
Shaking  the  beamy  reins 
Bade  them  pursue  their  way. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 
The  night  was  fair,  and  countless  stars 
Studded  heaven's  dark  blue  vault, — 

Just  o'er  the  eastern  wave 
Peeped  the  first  faint  smile  of  morn : — 
The  magic  car  moved  on — 
From  the  celestial  hoofs 
The  atmosphere  in  flaming  sparkles  flew, 

And  where  the  burning  wheels 
Eddied  above  the  mountains  loftiest  peak, 
Was  traced  a  line  of  lightning. 
Now  it  flew  far  above  a  rock, 

The  utmost  verge  of  earth, 
The  rival  of  the  Andes,  whose  dark  brow 

Lowered  o'er  the  silver  sea. 

Far,  far  below  the  chariot's  path, 

Calm  as  a  slumbering  babe, 

Tremendous  Ocean  lay. 
The  mirror  of  its  stillness  shewed 

The  pale  and  waning  stars, 

The  chariot's  fiery  track, 

And  the  grey  light  of  morn 

Tinging  those  fleecy  clouds 

That  canopied  the  dawn. 


I.]  QUEEN   MAB.  15 

Seemed  it,  that  the  chariots  way 
Lay  through  the  midst  of  an  immense  concave. 
Radiant  with  million  constellations,  tinged 

With  shades  of  infinite  colour, 

And  semicircled  with  a  belt 
Flashing  incessant  meteors. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 

As  they  approached  their  goal 
The  coursers  seemed  to  gather  speed ; 
The  sea  no  longer  was  distinguished :  earth 
Appeared  a  vast  and  shadowy  sphere ; 

The  sun's  unclouded  orb 

Rolled  through  the  black  concave ; 

Its  rays  of  rapid  light 
Parted  around  the  chariot's  swifter  course, 
And  fell  like  ocean's  feathery  spray 

Dashed  from  the  boiling  surge 

Before  a  vessel's  prow. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 

Earth's  distant  orb  appeared 
The  smallest  light  that  twinkles  in  the  heaven ; 

Whilst  round  the  chariot's  way 
Innumerable  systems  rolled, 
And  countless  spheres  diffused 

An  ever-varying  glory. 
It  was  a  sight  of  wonder ;  some 
Were  horned  like  the  crescent  moon ; 
Some  shed  a  mild  and  silver  beam 
Like  Hesperus  o'er  the  western  sea ; 
Some  dash'd  athwart  with  trains  of  flame, 
Like  worlds  to  death  and  ruin  driven ; 
Some  shone  like  suns,  and  as  the  chariot  passed, 
Eclipsed  all  other  light. 

Spirit  of  Nature !  here ! 
In  this  interminable  wilderness 
Of  worlds,  at  whose  immensity 
Even  soaring  fancy  staggers, 
Here  is  thy  fitting  temple. 
Yet  not  the  lightest  leaf 
That  quivers  to  the  passing  breeze 
Is  less  instinct  with  thee : 


16  QUEEN  MAB.  [il. 

Yet  not  the  meanest  worm 
That  lurks  in  graves  and  fattens  on  the  dead 

Less  shares  thy  eternal  breath. 

Spirit  of  Nature !  thou ! 
Imperishable  as  this  scene, 

Here  is  thy  fitting  temple. 


II. 

If  solitude  hath  ever  led  thy  steps 
To  the  wild  ocean's  echoing  shore, 

And  thou  hast  lingered  there, 

Until  the  sun's  broad  orb 
Seemed  resting  on  the  burnished  wave, 

Thou  must  have  marked  the  lines 
Of  purple  gold,  that  motionless 

Hung  o'er  the  sinking  sphere ; 
Thou  must  have  marked  the  billowy  clouds 
Edged  with  intolerable  radiancy 

Towering  like  rocks  of  jet 

Crowned  with  a  diamond  wreath. 

And  yet  there  is  a  moment, 

When  the  sun's  highest  point 
Peeps  like  a  star  o'er  ocean's  western  edge, 

When  those  far  clouds  of  feathery  gold, 

Shaded  with  deepest  purple,  gleam 

Like  islands  on  a  dark  blue  sea ; 
Then  has  thy  fanc}^  soared  above  the  earth, 
And  furled  its  wearied  wing 
Within  the  Fairy's  fane. 

Yet  not  the  golden  islands 

Gleaming  in  yon  flood  of  light, 

Nor  the  feathery  curtains 
Stretching  o'er  the  sun's  bright  couch, 
Nor  the  burnished  ocean  waves 

Paving  that  gorgeous  dome^ 
So  fair,  so  wonderful  a  sight 
As  Mab's  ethereal  palace  could  afford. 
Yet  likest  evening's  vault  that  fairy  Hall  I 
As  Heaven,  low  resting  on  the  wave,  it  spread 


II.]  QUEEN  MAB.  17 

Its  floors  of  flashing  light, 
Its  vast  and  azure  dome, 
Its  fertile  golden  islands 
Floating  on  a  silver  sea ; 
Whilst  suns  their  mingling  beamings  darted 
Through  clouds  of  circumambient  darkness, 
And  pearly  battlements  around 
Look'd  o'er  the  immense  of  Heaven. 
The  magic  car  no  longer  moved. 
The  Fairy  and  the  Spirit 
Entered  the  Hall  of  Spells ; 
Those  golden  clouds 
That  rolled  in  glittering  billows 
Beneath  the  azure  canopy 
With  the  ethereal  footsteps,  trembled  not ; 

The  light  and  crimson  mists, 
Floating  to  strains  of  thrilling  melody 
Through  that  unearthly  dwelling, 
Yielded  to  every  movement  of  the  will. 
Upon  their  passive  swell  the  Spirit  leaned, 
And,  for  the  varied  bliss  that  pressed  around, 
Used  not  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  virtue  and  of  wisdom. 

Spirit !  the  Fairy  said, 
And  pointed  to  the  gorgeous  dome, 

This  is  a  wondrous  sight 
And  mocks  all  human  grandeur ; 
But,  were  it  virtue's  only  meed  to  dwell 
In  a  celestial  palace,  all  resigned 
To  pleasurable  impulses,  immured 
Within  the  prison  of  itself,  the  will 
Of  changeless  nature  would  be  unfulfilled. 
Learn  to  make  others  happy.     Spirit  come ! 
This  is  thine  high  reward :— the  past  shall  rise ; 
Thou  shalt  behold  the  present ;  I  will  teach 
The  secrets  of  the  future. 


The  Fairy  and  the  Spirit 
Approached  the  overhanging  battlement. 
Below  lay  stretched  the  universe ! 
There,  far  as  the  remotest  line 
That  bounds  imagination's  flight, 
Countless  and  unending  orbs 
2* 


18  QUEEN   MAB.  [il. 

In  mazy  motion  intermingled, 
Yet  still  fulfilled  immutably- 
Eternal  Nature's  law. 
Above,  below,  around 
The  circling  systems  formed 
A  wilderness  of  harmony : 
Each  with  undeviating  aim, 
In  eloquent  silence,  through  the  depths  of  space 
Pursued  its  wondrous  way. 
There  was  a  little  light 
That  twinkled  in  the  misty  distance : 
None  but  a  spirit's  eye 
Might  ken  that  rolling  orb ; 
None  but  a  spirit's  eye, 
And  in  no  other  place 
But  that  celestial  dwelling,  might  behold 
Each  action  of  this  earth's  inhabitants. 

But  matter,  space,  and  time 
In  those  aerial  mansions  cease  to  act ; 
And  all-prevailing  wisdom,  when  it  reaps 
The  harvest  of  its  excellence,  o'erbounds 
Those  obstacles,  of  which  an  earthly  soul 
Fears  to  attempt  the  conquest. 

The  Fairy  pointed  to  the  earth. 

The  Spirit's  intellectual  eye 

Its  kindred  beings  recognized. 
The  thronging  thousands  to  a  passing  view, 
Seemed  like  an  anthill's  citizens. 

How  wonderful !  that  even 
The  passions,  prejudices,  interests, 
That  swayed  the  meanest  being,  the  weak  touch 

That  moves  the  finest  nerve, 

And  in  one  human  brain 
Causes  the  faintest  thought,  becomes  a  link 
In  the  great  chain  of  nature. 

Behold,  the  Fairy  cried, 
Palmyra's  ruined  palaces  ! — 

Behold  !  where  grandeur  frowned; 

Behold !  where  pleasure  smiled ; 
What  now  remains — the  memory 

Of  senselessness  and  shame— 

What  is  immortal  there  ? 


II.]  QUEEN   MAB.  19 

Nothing — it  stands  to  tell 

A  melancholy  tale,  to  give 

An  awful  warning ;  soon 
Oblivion  will  steal  silently 

The  remnant  of  its  fame. 

Monarchs  and  conquerors  there 
Proud  o'er  prostrate  millions  trod — 
The  earthquakes  of  the  human  race ; 
Like  them,  forgotten  when  the  ruin 

That  marks  their  shock  is  past. 

Beside  the  eternal  Nile, 

The  Pyramids  have  risen. 
Nile  shall  pursue  his  changeless  way ; 

Those  pyramids  shall  fall ; 
Yea !  not  a  stone  shall  stand  to  tell 

The  spot  whereon  they  stood ; 
Their  very  site  shall  be  forgotten, 

As  is  their  builder's  name ! 

Behold  yon  steril  spot ; 
Where  now  the  wandering  Arab's  tent 

Flaps  in  the  desert  blast. 
There  once  old  Salem's  haughty  fane 
Reared  high  to  heaven  its  thousand  golden  domes. 
And  in  the  blushing  face  of  day 

Exposed  its  shameful  glory. 
Oh  !  many  a  widow,  many  an  orphan  cursed 
The  building  of  that  fane ;  and  many  a  father, 
Worn  out  with  toil  and  slavery,  implored 
The  poor  man's  God  to  sweep  it  from  the  earth, 
And  spare  his  children  the  detested  task 
Of  piling  stone  on  stone,  and  poisoning 

The  choicest  days  of  life. 

To  soothe  a  dotard's  vanity, 
There  an  inhuman  and  uncultured  race 
Howled  hideous  praises  to  their  Demon-God ; 
They  rushed  to  war,  tore  from  the  mother's  womb 
The  unborn  child, — old  age  and  infancy 
Promiscuous  perished ;  their  victorious  arms 
Left  not  a  soul  to  breathe.     Oh !  they  were  fiends : 
But  what  was  he  that  taught  them  that  the  God 
Of  nature  and  benevolence  had  given 
A  special  sanction  to  the  trade  of  blood  ? 


20  QUEEN   MAB.  [iL 

His  name  and  theirs  are  fading,  and  the  tales 
Of  this  barbarian  nation,  which  imposture 
Recites  till  terror  credits,  are  pursuing 
Itself  into  forgetfulness. 

Where  Athens,  Rome,  and  Sparta  stood, 
There  is  a  moral  desert  now : 
The  mean  and  miserable  huts, 
The  yet  more  wretched  palaces, 
Contrasted  with  those  ancient  fanes, 
Now  crumbling  to  oblivion ; 
The  long  and  lonely  colonnades, 
Through  which  the  ghost  of  Freedom  stalks, 

Seem  like  a  well-known  tune, 
Which,  in  some  dear  scene  we  have  loved  to  hear, 

Remembered  now  in  sadness. 

But,  oh !  how  much  more  changed, 

How  gloomier  is  the  contrast 

Of  human  nature  there ! 
Where  Socrates  expired,  a  tyrant's  slave, 
A  coward  and  a  fool,  spreads  death  around — 

Then,  shuddering,  meets  his  own. 
Where  Cicero  and  Antoninus  lived, 
A  cowled  and  hypocritical  monk 

Prays,  curses,  and  deceives. 

Spirit !  ten  thousand  years 

Have  scarcely  past  away, 
Since,  in  the  waste  where  now  the  savage  drinks 
His  enemy's  blood,  and  aping  Europe's  sons, 

Wakes  the  unholy  song  of  war, 

Arose  a  stately  city, 
Metropolis  of  the  western  continent : 

There,  now,  the  mossy  column-stone, 
Indented  by  time's  unrelaxing  grasp, 

Which  once  appeared  to  brave 

All,  save  its  country's  ruin ; 

There  the  wide  forest  scene, 
Rude  in  the  uncultivated  loveliness 

Of  gardens  long  run  wild, 
Seems,  to  the  unwilling  sojourner,  whose  steps 

Chance  in  that  desert  has  delayed, 
Thus  to  have  stood  since  earth  was  what  it  is. 


II.]  QUEEN   MAB.  21 

Yet  once  it  was  the  busiest  haunt, 
Whither  as  to  a  common  centre,  nocked 
Strangers,  and  ships,  and  merchandise : 
Once  peace  and  freedom  blest 
The  cultivated  plain : 
But  wealth,  that  curse  of  man, 
Blighted  the  bud  of  its  prosperity : 
Virtue  and  wisdom,  truth  and  liberty, 
Fled,  to  return  not,  until  man  shall  know 
That  they  alone  can  give  the  bliss 

Worthy  a  soul  that  claims 
Its  kindred  with  eternity. 

There's  not  one  atom  of  yon  earth 

But  once  was  living  man ; 
Nor  the  minutest  drop  of  rain, 
That  hangeth  in  its  thinnest  cloud, 

But  flowed  in  human  veins  : 

And  from  the  burning  plains 

Where  Lybian  monsters  yell, 

From  the  most  gloomy  glens 

Of  Greenland's  sunless  clime, 

To  where  the  golden  fields 

Of  fertile  England  spread 

Their  harvest  to  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  find  one  spot 

Whereon  no  city  stood. 

How  strange  is  human  pride ! 
I  tell  thee  that  those  living  things, 
.  To  whom  the  fragile  blade  of  grass, 
That  springeth  in  the  morn 
And  perisheth  ere  noon, 
Is  an  unbounded  world ; 
I  tell  thee  that  those  viewless  beings, 
Whose  mansion  is  the  smallest  particle 
Of  the  impassive  atmosphere, 
Think,  feel,  and  live  like  man  ; 
That  their  affections  and  antipathies, 
Like  his,  produce  the  Laws 
Ruling  their  moral  state ; 
And  the  minutest  throb 
That  through  their  frame  diffuses 
-  -  The  slightest,  faintest  motion, 


QUEEN  MAB.  [ill. 

Is  fixed  and  indispensable 
As  the  majestic  laws 
That  rule  yon  rolling  orbs. 

The  Fairy  paused.    The  Spirit, 
In  exstacy  of  admiration,  felt 
All  knowledge  of  the  past  revived ;  the  events 

Of  old  and  wondrous  times, 
Which  dim  tradition  interruptedly 
Teaches  the  credulous  vulgar,  were  unfolded 
In  just  perspective  to  the  view ; 
Yet  dim  from  their  infinitude. 
The  Spirit  seemed  to  stand 
High  on  an  isolated  pinnacle  ; 
The  flood  of  ages  combating  below, 
The  depth  of  the  unbounded  universe 

Above,  and  all  around 
Nature's  unchanging  harmony. 


III. 

Fairy  !  the  Spirit  said, 

And  on  the  Queen  of  Spells 

Fixed  her  ethereal  eyes, 

I  thank  thee.    Thou  hast  given 
A  boon  which  I  will  not  resign,  and  taught 
A  lesson  not  to  be  unlearned.    I  know 
The  past,  and  thence  I  will  essay  to  glean 
A  warning  for  the  future,  so  that  man 
May  profit  by  his  errors,  and  derive 

Experience  from  his  folly : 
For,  when  the  power  of  imparting  joy 
Is  equal  to  the  will,  the  human  soul 

Requires  no  other  heaven. 

MAB. 

Turn  thee,  surpassing  Spirit ! 
Much  yet  remains  unscanned. 
Thou  knowest  how  great  is  man, 
Thou  knowest  his  imbecility : 
Yet  learn  thou  what  he  is ; 
Yet  learn  the  lofty  destiny 
Which  restless  time  prepares 
For  every  living  soul. 


III.J  QUEEN    MAB. 

Behold  a  gorgeous  palace,  that,  amid 

Yon  populous  city,  rears  its  thousand  towers 

And  seems  itself  a  city.     Gloomy  troops 

Of  centinels,  in  stern  and  silent  ranks, 

Encompass  it  around :  the  dweller  there 

Cannot  be  free  and  happy ;  hearest  thou  not 

The  curses  of  the  fatherless,  the  groans 

Of  those  who  have  no  friend  ?     He  passes  on : 

The  King,  the  wearer  of  a  gilded  chain 

That  binds  his  soul  to  abjectness,  the  fool 

Whom  courtiers  nickname  monarch,  whilst  a  slave 

Even  to  the  basest  appetites — that  man 

Heeds  not  the  shriek  of  penury :  he  smiles 

At  the  deep  curses  which  the  destitute 

Mutter  in  secret,  and  a  sullen  joy 

Pervades  his  bloodless  heart  when  thousands  groan 

But  for  those  morsels  which  his  wantonness 

Wastes  in  unjoyous  revelry,  to  save 

All  that  they  love  from  famine :  when  he  hears 

The  tale  of  horror,  to  some  ready-made  face 

Of  hypocritical  assent  he  turns, 

Smothering  the  glow  of  shame,  that  spite  of  him, 

Flushes  his  bloated  cheek. 

Now  to  the  meal 
Of  silence,  grandeur,  and  excess,  he  drags 
His  palled,  unwilling  appetite.     If  gold, 
Gleaming  around,  and  numerous  viands  culled 
From  every  clime,  could  force  the  loathing  sense 
To  overcome  satiety, — if  wealth, 
The  spring  it  draws  from,  poisons  not, — or  vice, 
Unfeeling,  stubborn  vice,  converteth  not 
Its  food  to  deadliest  venom ;  then  that  king 
Is  happy ;  and  the  peasant  who  fulfils 
His  unforced  task,  when  he  returns  at  even, 
And  by  the  blazing  faggot  meets  again 
Her  welcome  for  whom  all  his  toil  is  sped, 
Tastes  not  a  sweeter  meal. 

Behold  him  now 
Stretched  on  the  gorgeous  couch  ;  his  fevered  brain 
Reels  dizzily  awhile :  But,  ah  !  too  soon 
The  slumber  of  intemperance  subsides. 


34  QUEEN   MAB.  [ill. 

And  conscience,  that  undying  serpent,  calls 
Her  venomous  brood  to  their  nocturnal  task. 
Listen !  he  speaks !  oh !  mark  that  frenzied  eye — 
Oh !  mark  that  deadly  visage. 

KING. 

No  cessation ! 
Oh !  must  this  last  for  ever !    Awful  death, 
I  wish,  yet  fear  to  clasp  thee ! — Not  one  moment 
Of  dreamless  sleep !     O  dear  and  blessed  peace ! 
Why  dost  thou  shroud  thy  vestal  purity 
In  penury  and  dungeons  ?  wherefore  lurkest 
With  danger,  death,  and  solitude ;  yet  shunn'st 
The  palace  I  have  built  thee  ?     Sacred  peace  ! 
Oh  visit  me  but  once,  but  pitying  shed 
One  drop  of  balm  upon  my  withered  soul. 

Vain  man !  that  palace  is  the  virtuous  heart, 

And  peace  defileth  not  her  snowy  robes 

In  such  a  shed  as  thine.     Hark !  yet  he  mutters  ; 
/His  slumbers  are  but  varied  agonies, 
I  They  prey  like  scorpions  on  the  springs  of  life. 
1  There  needeth  not  the  hell  that  bigots  frame 

To  punish  those  who  err  :  earth  in  itself 
''  Contains  at  once  the  evil  and  the  cure  j 

And  all-sufficing  nature  can  chastise 

Those  who  transgress  her  law, — she  only  knows 

How  justly  to  proportion  to  the  fault 

The  punishment  it  merits. 

Is  it  strange 
That  this  poor  wretch  should  pride  him  in  his  woe  ? 
Take  pleasure  in  his  abjectness,  and  hug 
The  scorpion  that  consumes  him  ?    Is  it  strange 
That,  placed  on  a  conspicuous  throne  of  thorns, 
Grasping  an  iron  sceptre,  and  immured 
Within  a  splendid  prison,  whose  stern  bounds 
Shut  him  from  all  that's  good  or  dear  on  earth, 
His  soul  asserts  not  its  humanity  ? 
That  man's  mild  nature  rises  not  in  war 
Against  a  king's  employ !    No— 'tis  not  strange. 
He,  like  the  vulgar,  thinks,  feels,  acts,  and  lives 
Just  as  his  father  did ;  the  unconquered  powers 
Of  precedent  and  custom  interpose 


III-l  QUEEN    MAB.  25 

Between  a  king  and  virtue.     Stranger  yet, 
To  those  who  know  not  nature,  nor  deduce 
The  future  from  the  present,  it  may  seem, 
That  not  one  slave,  who  suffers  from  the  crimes 
Of  this  unnatural  being ;  not  one  wretch, 
Whose  children  famish,  and  whose  nuptial  bed 
Is  earth's  unpitying  bosom,  rears  an  arm 
To  dash  him  from  his  throne ! 

I  Those  gilded  flies 
That,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  a  court, 
.  Fatten  on  its  corruption ! — what  are  they  ? 
— The  drone's  of  the  community ;  they  feed 
On  the  mechanic's  labour  :  the  starved  hind  * 
For  them  compels  the  stubborn  glebe  to  yield 
Its  unshared  harvests ;  and  yon  squalid  form, 
Leaner  than  fleshless  misery,  that  wastes 
A  sunless  life  in  the  unwholesome  mine, 
Drags  out  in  labour  a  protracted  death, 
To  glut  their  grandeur ;  many  faint  with  toil, 
That  few  may  know  the  cares  and  woe  of  sloth. 


Whence,  think'st  thou,  kings  and  parasites  arose  ? 

Whence  that  unnatural  line  of  drones,  who  heap 

Toil  and  unvanquishable  penury 

On  those  who  build  their  palaces,  and  bring 

Their  daily  bread  ? — From  vice,  black  loathsome  vice 

From  rapine,  madness,  treachery,  and  wrong ; 

From  all  that  genders  misery,  and  makes 

Of  earth  this  thorny  wilderness  ;  from  lust, 

Revenge,  and  murder And  when  reason's  voice, 

Loud  as  the  voice  of  nature,  shall  have  waked 
The  nations ;  and  mankind  perceive  that  vice 
Is  discord,  war,  and  misery ; — that  virtue 
Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony ; 
When  man's  maturer  nature  shall  disdain 
The  playthings  of  its  childhood ;— kingly  glare 
Will  lose  its  power  to  dazzle ;  its  authority 
Will  silently  pass  by ;  the  gorgeous  throne 
Shall  stand  unnoticed  in  the  regal  hall, 
Fast  falling  to  decay ;  whilst  falsehood's  trade 
Shall  be  as  hateful  and  unprofitable 
As  that  of  truth  is  now. 

3 


26  QUEEN  MAB.  [ill. 

Where  is  the  fame 
Which  the  vain-glorious  mighty  of  the  earth 
Seek  to  eternize  ?     Oh !  the  faintest  sound 
From  time's  light  footfall,  the  minutest  wave 
That  swells  the  flood  of  ages,  whelms  in  nothing 
The  unsubstantial  bubble.     Aye  !  to-day 
Stern  is  the  tyrant's  mandate,  red  the  gaze 
That  flashes  desolation,  strong  the  arm 
That  scatters  multitudes.     To-morrow  comes ! 
That  mandate  is  a  thunder-peal  that  died 
In  ages  past ;  that  gaze,  a  transient  flash 
On  which  the  midnight  closed,  and  on  that  arm 
The  worm  has  made  his  meal. 

t 

1  The  virtuous  man, 

Who,  great  in  his  humility,  as  kings 
Are  little  in  their  grandeur ;  he  who  leads 
Invincibly  a  life  of  resolute  good, 
And  stands  amid  the  silent  dungeon-depths 
More  free  and  fearless  than  the  trembling  judge, 
Who,  clothed  in  venal  power,  vainly  strove 
To  bind  the  impassive  spirit ; — when  he  falls. 
His  mild  eye  beams  benevolence  no  more ; 
Withered  the  hand  outstretched  but  to  relieve ; 
Sunk  reason's  simple  eloquence  that  rolled 
But  to  appal  the  guilty.     Yes !  the  grave 
Hath  quenched  that  eye,  and  death's  relentless  frost 
Withered  that  arm :  but  the  unfading  fame 
Which  virtue  hangs  upon  its  votary's  tomb  ; 
The  deathless  memory  of  that  man,  whom  kings 
Call  to  their  mind  and  tremble ;  the  remembrance 
With  which  the  happy  spirit  contemplates 
'Its  well-spent  pilgrimage  on  earth, 
Shall  never  pass  away. 

Nature  rejects  the  monarch,  not  the  man ; 
The  subject,  not  the  citizen :  for  kings 
And  subjects,  mutual  foes,  for  ever  play 
A  losing  game  into  each  other's  hands, 
Whose  stakes  are  vice  and  misery.     The  man 
Of  virtuous  soul  commands  not,  nor  obeys. 
Power,  like  a  desolating  pestilence, 
Pollutes  whate'er  it  touches ;  and  obedience, 
Bane  of  all  genius,  virtue,  freedom,  truth, 


III.J  QUEEN   MAB.  27 

Makes  slaves  of  men,  and,  of  the  human  frame, 
A  mechanized  automaton. 

When  Nero, 
High  over  flaming  Rome,  with  savage  joy 
Lowered  like  a  fiend,  drank  with  enraptured  ear 
The  shrieks  of  agonizing  death,  beheld 
The  frightful  desolation  spread,  and  felt 
A  new  created  sense  within  his  soul 
Thrill  to  the  sight,  and  vibrate  to  the  sound ; 
Thinkest  thou  his  grandeur  had  not  overcome 
The  force  of  human  kindness  ?  and,  when  Rome, 
With  one  stern  blow,  hurled  not  the  tyrant  down, 
Crushed  not  the  arm  red  with  her  dearest  blood, 
Had  not  submissive  abjectness  destroyed 
Nature's  suggestions  ? 

Look  on  yonder  earth : 
The  golden  harvest  spring ;  the  unfailing  sun 
Sheds  light  and  life ;  the  fruits,  the  flowers,  the  trees, 
Arise  in  due  succession  ;  all  things  speak 
Peace,  harmony,  and  love.    The  universe, 
In  nature's  silent  eloquence,  declares 
That  all  fulfil  the  works  of  love  and  joy,— 
All  but  the  outcast  man.    He  fabricates 
The  sword  which  stabs  his  peace ;  he  cherisheth 
The  snakes  that  gnaw  his  heart ;  he  raiseth  up 
The  tyrant  whose  delight  is  in  his  woe, 
Whose  sport  is  in  his  agony.    Yon  sun, 
Lights  it  the  great  alone  ?    Yon  silver  beams, 
Sleep  they  less  sweetly  on  the  cottage  thatch, 
Than  on  the  dome  of  kings'?     Is  mother  earth 
A  step-dame  to  her  numerous  sons,  who  earn 
Her  unshared  gifts  with  unremitting  toil ; 
A  mother  only  to  those  puling  babes 
Who,  nursed  in  ease  and  luxury,  make  men 
The  playthings  of  their  babyhood,  and  mar, 
In  self-important  childishness,  that  peace 
Which  men  alone  appreciate  1 

Spirit  of  Nature !  no. 
The  pure  diffusion  of  thy  essence  throbs 
Alike  in  every  human  heart. 
Thou,  aye,  erectest  there 


28  QUEEN   MAB.  [iV. 

Thy  throne  of  power  unappealable ; 
Thou  art  the  judge  beneath  whose  nod 
Man's  brief  and  frail  authority- 
Is  powerless  as  the  wind 
That  passeth  idly  by. 
Thine  the  tribunal  which  surpasseth 
The  show  of  human  justice, 
V  As  God  surpasses  man. 

Spirit  of  Nature !  thou 
Life  of  interminable  multitudes  ; 
Soul  of  those  mighty  spheres 
Whose  changeless  paths  thro'  Heaven's  deep  silence  lie ; 
Soul  of  that  smallest  being, 

The  dwelling  of  whose  life 
Is  one  faint  April  sun-gleam ; — 
Man,  like  these  passive  things, 
Thy  will  unconsciously  fulfilleth  : 
Like  theirs,  his  age  of  endless  peace, 
Which  time  is  fast  maturing, 
Will  swiftly,  surely  come  ; 
And  the  unbounded  frame,  which  thou  pervadest, 
Will  be  without  a  flaw 
Marring  its  perfect  symmetry. 


IV. 

How  beautiful  this  night !  the  balmiest  sigh, 

Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear, 

Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 

That  wraps  this  moveless  scene.     Heaven's  ebon  vault, 

Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 

Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur  rolls, 

Seems  like  a  canopy  which  love  had  spread 

To  curtain  her  sleeping  world.     Yon  gentle  hills, 

Robed  in  a  garment  of  untrodden  snow ; 

Yon  darksome  rocks,  whence  icicles  depend, 

So  stainless  that  their  white  and  glittering  spires 

Tinge  not  the  moon's  pure  beam  :  yon  castled  steep 

Whose  banner  hangeth  o'er  the  time-worn  tower 

So  idly,  that  rapt  fancy  deemeth  it 

A  metaphor  of  peace ; — all  form  a  scene 

Where  musing  solitude  might  love  to  lift 

Her  soul  above  this  sphere  of  earthliness  ; 


IV.]  QUEEN  MAB.  29 

Where  silence  undisturbed  might  watch  alone. 
So  cold,  so  bright,  so  still. 

The  orb  of  day, 
In  southern  climes,  o'er  ocean's  waveless  field 
Sinks  sweetly  smiling ;  not  the  faintest  breath 
Steals  o'er  the  unruffled  deep ;  the  clouds  of  eve 
Reflect  unmoved  the  lingering  beam  of  day, 
And  vesper's  image  on  the  western  main 
Is  beautifully  still.     To-morrow  comes  ; 
Cloud  upon  cloud,  in  dark  and  deepening  mass, 
Roll'd  o'er  the  blackened  waters  ;  the  deep  roar 
Of  distant  thunder  mutters  awfully ; 
Tempest  unfolds  its  pinion  o'er  the  gloom 
That  shrouds  the  boiling  surge  ;  the  pityless  fiend, 
With  all  his  winds  and  lightnings,  tracks  his  prey ; 
The  torn  deep  yawns, — the  vessel  finds  a  grave 
Beneath  its  jagged  gulf. 

Ah !  whence  yon  glare 
That  fires  the  arch  of  heaven? — that  dark  red  smoke 
Blotting  the  silver  moon !     The  stars  are  quenched 
In  darkness,  and  the  pure  and  spangling  snow 
Gleams  faintly  through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round ! 
Hark  to  that  roar,  whose  swift  and  deaf 'ning  peals 
In  countless  echoes  through  the  mountains  ring, 
Startling  pale  midnight  on  her  starry  throne  ! 
Now  swells  the  intermingling  din ;  the  jar 
Frequent  and  frightful  of  the  bursting  bomb  ; 
The  falling  beam,  the  shriek,  the  groan,  the  shout, 
The  ceaseless  clangour,  and  the  rush  of  men 
Inebriate  with  rage : — loud,  and  more  loud 
The  discord  grows ;  till  pale  death  shuts  the  scene. 
And  o'er  the  conqueror  and  conquered  draws 
His  cold  and  bloody  shroud. — Of  all  the  men 
Whom  day's  departing  beam  saw  blooming  there, 
In  proud  and  vigorous  health ;  of  all  the  hearts 
That  beat  with  anxious  life  at  sun-set  there : 
How  few  survive,  how  few  are  beating  now  ! 
All  is  deep  silence,  like  the  fearful  calm 
That  slumbers  in  the  storm's  portentous   pause ; 
Save  when  the  frantic  wail  of  widowed  love 
Comes  shuddering  on  the  blast,  or  the  faint  moan 
With  which  some  soul  bursts  from  the  frame  of  clay 
Wrapt  round  its  struggling  powers. 
3* 


30  QUEEN   MAB.  [IV, 

The  grey  morn 
Draws  on  the  mournful  scene ;  the  sulphurous  smoke 
Before  the  icy  wind  slow  rolls  away, 
And  the  bright  beams  of  frosty  morning  dance 
Along  the  spangling  snow.     There  tracks  of  blood 
Even  to  the  forest's  depth,  and  scatter'd  arms, 
And  lifeless  warriors,  whose  hard  lineaments 
Death's  self  could  change  not,  mark  the  dreadful  path 
Of  the  outsallying  victors ;  far  behind, 
Black  ashes  note  where  their  proud  city  stood. 
Within  yon  forest  is  a  gloomy  glen — 
Each  tree  which  guards  its  darkness  from  the  day, 
Waves  o'er  a  warrior's  tomb. 

I  see  thee  shrink, 
Surpassing  Spirit ! — wert  thou  human  else  ? 
I  see  a  shade  of  doubt  and  horror  fleet 
Across  thy  stainless  features  ;  yet  fear  not ; 
This  is  no  unconnected  misery, 
Nor  stands  uncaused,  and  irretrievable. 
Man's  evil  nature,  that  apology 

Which  kings  who  rule,  and  cowards  who  crouch,  set  up 
For  their  unnumbered  crimes,  sheds  not  the  blood 
Which  desolates  the  discord-wasted  land. 
From  kings,  and  priests,  and  statesmen,  war  arose, 
Whose  safety  is  man's  deep  unbettered  woe, 
Whose  grandeur  his  debasement.     Let  the  axe 
Strike  at  the  root;  the  poison-tree  will  fall; 
And  where  its  venomed  exhalations  spread 
Ruin,  and  death,  and  woe,  where  millions  lie 
Quenching  the  serpent's  famine,  and  their  bones 
Bleaching  unburied  in  the  putrid  blast, 
A  garden  shall  arise,  in  loveliness 
Surpassing  fabled  Eden. 

Hath  Nature's  soul, 
That  formed  this  world  so  beautiful,  that  spread 
Earth's  lap  with  plenty,  and  life's  smallest  chord 
Strung  to  unchanging  unison,  that  gave 
The  happy  birds  their  dwelling  in  the  grove, 
That  yielded  to  the  wanderers  of  the  deep 
The  lovely  silence  of  the  unfathomed  main, 
And  filled  the  meanest  worm  that  crawls  in  dust 
With  spirit,  thought,  and  love ;  on  Man  alone, 


IV.]  QTJEEN    MAB.  31 

Partial  in  causeless  malice,  wantonly 
Heaped  ruin,  vice,  and  slavery ;  his  soul 
Blasted  with  withering  curses  ;  placed  afar 
The  meteor-happiness,  that  shuns  his  grasp. 
But  serving  on  the  frightful  gulf  to  glare, 
Rent  wide  beneath  his  footsteps  ? 

Nature  ! — no ! 
King,  priests,  and  statesmen,  blast  the  human  flower 
Even  in  its  tender  bud  ;  their  influence  darts 
Like  subtle  poison  through  the  bloodless  veins 
Of  desolate  society.     The  child, 
Ere  he  can  lisp  his  mother's  sacred  name, 
Swells  with  the  unnatural  pride  of  crime,  and  lifts 
His  baby  sword  even  in  a  hero's  mood. 
This  infant  arm  becomes  the  bloodiest  scourge 
Of  devastated  earth  ;  whilst  specious  names, 
Learnt  in  soft  childhood's  unsuspecting  hour, 
Serve  as  the  sophisms  with  which  manhood  dims 
Bright  reason's  ray,  and  sanctifies  the  sword 
Upraised  to  shed  a  brother's  innocent  blood. 
Let  priest-led  slaves  cease  to  proclaim  that  man 
Inherits  vice  and  misery,  when  force 
And  falsehood  hang  even  o'er  the  cradled  babe, 
Stifling  with  rudest  grasp  all  natural  good. 

Ah  !  to  the  stranger-soul,  when  first  it  peeps 
From  its  new  tenement,  and  looks  abroad 
For  happiness  and  sympathy,  how  stern 
And  desolate  a  tract  is  this  wide  world  ! 
How  withered  all  the  buds  of  natural  good ! 
No  shade,  no  shelter  from  the  sweeping  storms 
Of  pitiless  power  !  on  its  wretched  frame, 
Poisoned,  perchance,  by  the  disease  and  woe 
Heaped  on  the  wretched  parent  whence  it  sprung 
By  morals,  law,  and  custom,  the  pure  winds 
Of  heaven,  that  renovate  the  insect  tribes, 
May  breathe  not.     The  untainting  light  of  day 
May  visit  not  its  longings.     It  is  bound 
Ere  it  has  life ;  yea,  all  the  chains  are  forged 
Long  ere  its  being  ;  all  liberty  and  love 
And  peace  is  torn  from  its  defencelessness  ; 
Cursed  from  its  birth,  even  from  its  cradle  doomed 
To  abjectness  and  bondage ! 


32  QUEEN   MAB.  [iV. 

Throughout  this  varied  and  eternal  world 
Soul  is  the  only  element,  the  block 
That  for  uncounted  ages  has  remained. 
The  moveless  pillar  of  a  mountain's  weight 
Is  active,  living  spirit.     Every  grain 
Is  sentient  both  in  unity  and  part, 
And  the  minutest  atom  comprehends 
A  world  of  loves  and  hatreds :  these  beget 
Evil  and  good :  hence  truth  and  falsehood  spring : 
Hence  will,  and  thought,  and  action,  all  the  germs 
Of  pain  or  pleasure,  sympathy  or  hate, 
That  variegate  the  eternal  universe. 
Soul  is  not  more  polluted  than  the  beams 
Of  heaven's  pure  orb,  ere  round  their  rapid  lines 
The  taint  of  earth-born  atmospheres  arise. 
Man  is  of  soul  and  body,  formed  for  deeds 
Of  high  resolve,  on  fancy's  boldest  wing 
To  soar  unwearied,  fearlessly  to  turn 
The  keenest  pangs  to  peacefulness,  and  taste 
The  joys  which  mingled  sense  and  spirit  yield. 
Or  he  is  formed  for  abjectness  and  woe, 
I   To  grovel  on  the  dunghill  of  his  fears, 
.;  To  shrink  at  every  sound,  to  quench  the  flame 
II  Of  natural  love  in  sensualism,  to  know 
vt  I  That  hour  as  blest  when  on  his  worthless  days 
The  frozen  hand  of  death  shall  set  its  seal, 
Yet  fear  the  cure,  though  hating  the  disease. 
The  one  is  man  that  shall  hereafter  be ; 
The  other,  man  as  vice  has  made  him  now. 

War  is  the  statesman's  game,  the  priest's  delight, 
The  lawyer's  jest,  the  hired  assassin's  trade, 
!   And,  to  those  royal  murderers,  whose  mean  thrones 
Are  bought  by  crimes  of  treachery  and  gore, 
The  bread  they  eat,  the  staff  on  which  they  lean. 
Guards,  garbed  in  blood-red  livery,  surround 
Their  palaces,  participate  the  crimes 
That  force  defends,  and  from  a  nation's  rage 
Secures  the  crown,  which  all  the  curses  reach, 
^3     I  That  famine,  frenzy,  woe,  and  penury  breathe. 
These  are  the  hired  bravos  who  defend 
The  tyrant's  throne — the  bullies  of  his  fear : 
These  are  the  sinks  and  channels  of  worst  vice, 
The  refuse  of  society,  the  dregs 
I 


*A 


IV.J  QUEEN    MAB.  33 

Of  all  that  is  most  vile :  their  cold  hearts  blend 
Deceit  with  sternness,  ignorance  with  pride, 
All  that  is  mean  and  villainous,  with  rage 
Which  hopelessness  of  good,  and  self-contempt, 
Alone  might  kindle  ;  they  are  decked  in  wealth, 
Honour,  and  power,  then  are  sent  abroad 
To  do  their  Avork.     The  pestilence  that  stalks 
In  gloomy  triumph  through  some  eastern  land 
Is  less  destroying.     They  cajole  with  gold, 
And  promises  of  fame,  the  thoughtless  youth 
Already  crushed  with  servitude  :  he  knows 
His  wretchedness  too  late,  and  cherishes 
Repentance  for  his  ruin,  when  his  doom 
Is  sealed  in  gold  and  blood  ! 
Those  too  the  tyrant  serve,  who,  skilled  to  snare 
The  feet  of  justice  in  the  toils  of  law, 
Stand,  ready  to  oppress  the  weaker  still ; 
And,  right  or  wrong,  will  vindicate  for  gold, 
Sneering  at  public  virtue,  which  beneath 
Their  pitiless  tread  lies  torn  and  trampledy  where 
Honour  sits  smiling  at  the  sale  of  truth. 

Then  grave  and  hoary-headed  hypocrites, 

Without  a  hope,  a  passion,  or  a  love, 

Who,  through  a  life  of  luxury  and  lies, 

Have  crept  by  flattery  to  the  seats  of  power, 

Support  the  system  whence  their  honours  flow — 

They  have  three  words : — well  tyrants  know  their  use, 

Well  pay  them  for  their  loan,  with  usury 

Torn  from  a  bleeding  world  ! — God,  Hell,  and  Heaven. 

A  vengeful,  pitiless,  and  almighty  fiend, 

Whose  mercy  is  a  nick-name  for  the  rage 

Of  tameless  tygers  hungering  for  blood. 

Hell,  a  red  gulf  of  everlasting  fire, 

Where  poisonous  and  undying  worms  prolong 

Eternal  misery  to  those  hapless  slaves 

Whose  life  has  been  a  penance  for  its  crimes. 

And  Heaven,  a  meed  for  those  who  dare  belie 

Their  human  nature,  quake,  believe,  and  cringe 

Before  the  mockeries  of  earthly  power. 

These  tools  the  tyrant  tempers  to  his  work, 
Wields  in  his  wrath,  and  as  he  wills,  destroys. 
Omnipotent  in  wickedness :  the  while 


34  QUEEN   MAB.  [IV. 

Youth  springs,  age  moulders,  manhood  tamely  does 
His  bidding,  bribed  by  short-lived  joys  to  lend 
Force  to  the  weakness  of  his  trembling  arm. 
They  rise,  they  fall ;  one  generation  comes 
Yielding  its  harvest  to  destruction's  scythe. 
It  fades,  another  blossoms,  yet  behold ! 
Red  glows  the  tyrant's  stamp-mark  on  its  bloom, 
Withering  and  cankering  deep  its  passive  prime. 
He  has  invented  lying  words  and  modes, 
Empty  and  vain  as  his  own  coreless  heart : 
Evasive  meanings,  nothings  of  much  sound. 
To  lure  the  heedless  victim  to  the  toils 
Spread  round  the  valley  of  its  paradise. 

Look  to  thyself,  priest,  conqueror,  or  prince ! 
Whether  thy  trade  is  falsehood,  and  thy  lusts 
Deep  wallow  in  the  earnings  of  the  poor, 
With  whom  thy  master  was ; — or  thou  delightest 
In  numbering  o'er  the  myriads  of  thy  slain, 
All  misery  weighing  nothing  in  the  scale 
Against  thy  short-lived  fame  :  or  thou  dost  load 
With  cowardice  and  crime  the  groaning  land, 
A  pomp-fed  king.    Look  to  thy  wretched  self ! 
(,\  v*,  |  Axe5  art  mou  not  tne  veriest  slave  that  e'er 

'  Crawled  on  the  loathing  earth  ?    Are  not  thy  days 
*     Days  of  unsatisfying  listlessness  1 

Dost  thou  not  cry,  ere  night's  long  rack  is  o'er, 

When  will  the  morning  come  ?    Is  not  thy  youth 

A  vain  and  feverish  dream  of  sensualism  ? 

Thy  manhood  blighted  with  unripe  disease  ? 

Are  not  thy  views  of  unregretted  death 

Drear,  comfortless,  and  horrible  ?    Thy  mind 

Is  it  not  morbid  as  thy  nerveless  frame, 

Incapable  of  judgment,  hope,  or  love? 

And  dost  thou  wish  the  errors  to  survive 

That  bar  thee  from  all  sympathies  of  good, 

After  the  miserable  interest 

Thou  holdest  in  their  protraction  ?    When  the  grave 

Has  swallowed  up  thy  memory  and  thyself, 

Dost  thou  desire  the  bane  that  poisons  earth 

To  twine  its  roots  around  thy  coffined  clay, 

Spring  from  thy  bones,  and  blossom  on  thy  tomb, 

That  of  its  fruit  thy  babes  may  eat  and  die  ? 


IV.]  QUEEN   MAB.  35 


Thus  do  the  generations  of  the  earth 
Go  to  the  grave,  and  issue  from  the  womb, 
Surviving  still  the  imperishable  change 
That  renovates  the  world ;  even  as  the  leaves 
Which  the  keen  frost-wind  of  the  waning  year 
Has  scattered  on  the  forest  soil,  and  heaped 
For  many  seasons  there,  though  long  they  choke, 
Loading  with  loathsome  rottenness  the  land, 
All  germs  of  promise.     Yet  when  the  tall  trees 
From  which  they  fell,  shorn  of  their  lovely  shapes, 
Lie  level  with  the  earth  to  moulder  there, 
They  fertilize  the  land  they  long  deformed, 
Till  from  the  breathing  lawn  a  forest  springs 
Of  youth,  integrity,  and  loveliness, 
Like  that  which  gave  it  life,  to  spring  and  die. 
Thus  suicidal  selfishness,  that  blights 
The  fairest  feelings  of  the  opening  heart, 
Is  destined  to  decay,  whilst  from  the  soil 
Shall  spring  all  virtue,  all  delight,  all  love, 
And  judgment  cease  towage  unnatural  war 
With  passion's  unsubduable  array. 

Twin-sister  of  religion,  selfishness  ! 
Rival  in  crime  and  falsehood,  aping  all 
The  wanton  horrors  of  her  bloody  play : 
Yet  frozen,  unimpassioned,  spiritless, 
Shunning  the  light,  and  owning  not  its  name, 
Compelled,  by  its  deformity,  to  screen 
With  flimsy  veil  of  justice  and  of  right, 
Its  unattractive  lineaments,  that  scare 
All,  save  the  brood  of  ignorance  :  at  once 
The  cause  and  the  effect  of  tyranny  ; 
Unblushing,  hardened,  sensual,  and  vile ; 
Dead  to  all  love  but  of  its  abjectness, 
With  heart  impassive  by  more  noble  powers 
Than  unshared  pleasure,  sordid  gain,  or  fame ; 
Despising  its  own  miserable  being, 
Which  still  it  longs,  yet  fears  to  disenthral. 

Hence  commerce  springs,  the  venal  interchange 
Of  all  that  human  art  or  nature  yield  j 


3  QUEEN   MAB,  [V. 

Which  wealth  should  purchase  not,  but  want  demand, 

And  natural  kindness  hasten  to  supply 

From  the  full  fountain  of  its  boundless  love, 

For  ever  stifled,  drained,  and  tainted  now. 

Commerce  !  beneath  whose  poison-breathing  shade 

No  solitary  virtue  dares  to  spring. 

But  poverty  and  wealth,  with  equal  hand, 

.Scatter  their  withering  curses,  and  unfold 

The  doors  of  premature  and  violent  death, 

To  pining  famine  and  full-fed  disease, 

To  all  that  shares  the  lot  of  human  life, 

Which,  poisoned  body  and  soul,  scarce  drags  the  chain, 

That  lengthens  as  it  goes  and  clanks  behind. 

Commerce  has  set  the  mark  of  selfishness, 
The  signet  of  its  all-enslaving  power 
Upon  a  shining  ore,  and  called  it  gold : 
Before  whose  image  bow  the  vulgar  great, 
The  vainly-rich,  the  miserable  proud, 
The  mob  of  peasants,  nobles,  priests,  and  kings, 
And  with  blind  feelings  reverence  the  power 
That  grinds  them  to  the  dust  of  misery. 
But  in  the  temple  of  their  hireling  hearts 
Gold  is  a  living  god,  and  rules  in  scorn 
All  earthly  things  but  virtue. 

Since  tyrants,  by  the  sale  of  human  life, 

Heap  luxuries  to  their  sensualism,  and  fame 

To  their  wide-wasting  and  insatiate  pride : 

Success  has  sanctioned  to  a  credulous  world 

The  ruin,  the  disgrace,  the  woe  of  war. 

His  hosts  of  blind  and  unresisting  dupes 

The  despot  numbers ;  from  his  cabinet 

These  puppets  of  his  schemes  he  moves  at  will, 

Even  as  the  slaves  by  force  or  famine  driven, 

Beneath  a  vulgar  master,  to  perform 

A  task  of  cold  and  brutal  drudgery ; — 

Hardened  to  hope,  insensible  to  fear, 

Scarce  living  pullies  of  a  dead  machine, 

Mere  wheels  of  work  and  articles  of  trade, 

That  grace  the  proud  and  noisy  pomp  of  wealth ! 

The  harmony  and  happiness  of  man 

Yields  to  the  wealth  of  nations ;  that  which  lifts 


V.]  QUEEN   MAB.  37 

His  nature  to  the  heaven  of  its  pride, 

Is  bartered  for  the  poison  of  his  soul ; 

The  weight  that  drags  to  earth  his  towering  hopes. 

Blighting  all  prospect  but  of  selfish  gain, 

Withering  all  passion  but  of  slavish  fear, 

Extinguishing  all  free  and  generous  love 

Of  enterprize  and  daring,  even  the  pulse 

That  fancy  kindles  in  the  beating  heart 

To  mingle  with  sensation,  it  destroys, — 

Leaves  nothing  but  the  sordid  lust  of  self, 

The  grovelling  hope  of  interest  and  gold, 

Unqualified,  unmingled,  unredeemed 

Even  by  hypocrisy. 

And  statesmen  boast 
Of  wealth !  the  wordy  eloquence  that  lives 
After  the  ruin  of  their  hearts,  can  gild 
The  bitter  poison  of  a  nation's  woe, 
Can  turn  the  worship  of  the  servile  mob 
To  their  corrupt  and  glaring  idol  fame, 
From  virtue,  trampled  by  its  iron  tread, 
Although  its  dazzling  pedestal  be  raised 
Amid  the  horrors  of  a  limb-strewn  field, 
With  desolated  dwellings  smoking  round. 
The  man  of  ease,  who,  by  his  warm  fire-side. 
To  deeds  of  charitable  intercourse 
And  bare  fulfilment  of  the  common  laws 
Of  decency  and  prejudice,  confines 
The  struggling  nature  of  his  human  heart, 
Is  duped  by  their  cold  sophistry ;  he  sheds 
A  passing  tear  perchance  upon  the  wreck 
Of  earthly  peace,  when  near  his  dwelling's  door 
The  frightful  waves  are  driven, — when  his  son 
Is  murdered  by  the  tyrant,  or  religion 
Drives  his  wife  raving  mad.     But  the  poor  man, 
Whose  life  is  misery,  and  fear,  and  care ; 
Whom  the  morn  wakens  but  to  fruitless  toil ; 
Who  ever  hears  his  famished  offspring's  scream, 
Whom  their  pale  mother's  uncomplaining  gaze 
For  ever  meets,  and  the  proud  rich  man's  eye 
Flashing  command,  and  the  heart-breaking  scene 
Of  thousands  like  himself ;— he  little  heeds 
The  rhetoric  of  tyranny ;  his  hate 
Is  quenchless  as  his  wrongs ;  he  laughs  to  scorn 
4 


38  QUEEN   MAB.  [V. 

The  vain  and  bitter  mockery  of  words, 
Feeling  the  horror  of  the  tyrant's  deeds, 
And  unrestrained  but  by  the  arm  of  power, 
That  knows  and  dreads  his  enmity.  > 

The  iron  rod  of  penury  still  compels 

Her  wretched  slave  to  bow  the  knee  to  wealth, 

And  poison,  with  unprofitable  toil, 

A  life  too  void  of  solace  to  confirm 

The  very  chains  that  bind  him  to  his  doom. 

Nature,  impartial  in  munificence, 

Has  gifted  man  with  all-subduing  will. 

Matter,  with  all  its  transitory  shapes, 

Lies  subjected  and  plastic  at  his  feet, 

That,  weak  from  bondage,  tremble  as  they  tread. 

How  many  a  rustic  Milton  has  past  by, 

Stifling  the  speechless  longings  of  his  heart, 

In  unremitting  drudgery  and  care ! 

How  many  a  vulgar  Cato  has  compelled 

His  energies,  no  longer  tameless  then, 

To  mould  a  pin,  or  fabricate  a  nail ! 

How  many  a  Newton,  to  whose  passive  ken 

Those  mighty  spheres  that  gem  infinity 

Were  only  specks  of  tinsel,  fixed  in  heaven 

To  light  the  midnights  of  his  native  town ! 

Yet  every  heart  contains  perfection's  germ : 
The  wisest  of  the  sages  of  the  earth, 
That  ever  from  the  stores  of  reason  drew 
Science  and  truth,  and  virtue's  dreadless  tone, 
Were  but  a  weak  and  inexperienced  boy, 
Proud,  sensual,  unimpassioned,  unimbued 
With  pure  desire  and  universal  love, 
Compared  to  that  high  being,  of  cloudless  brain, 
Untainted  passion,  elevated  will, 
Which  death  (who  even  would  linger  long  in  awe 
Within  his  noble  presence,  and  beneath 
His  changeless  eyebeam,)  might  alone  subdue. 
Him,  every  slave  now  dragging  through  the  filth 
Of  some  corrupted  city  his  sad  life, 
Pining  with  famine,  swoln  with  luxury, 
Blunting  the  keenness  of  his  spiritual  sense 
With  narrow  schemings  and  unworthy  cares, 
Or  madly  rushing  through  all  violent  crime, 


V.]  QUEEN   MAB. 

To  move  the  deep  stagnation  of  his  soul, — 
Might  imitate  and  equal. 

But  mean  lust 
Has  bound  its  chains  so  tight  around  the  earth, 
That  all  within  it  but  the  virtuous  man 
Is  venal :  gold  or  fame  will  surely  reach 
The  price  prefixed  by  selfishness,  to  all 
But  him  of  resolute  and  unchanging  will ; 
Whom,  nor  the  plaudits  of  a  servile  crowd, 
Nor  the  vile  joys  of  tainting  luxury, 
Can  bribe  to  yield  his  elevated  soul 
To  tyranny  or  falsehood,  though  they  wield 
With  blood-red  hand  the  sceptre  of  the  world. 

All  things  are  sold :  the  very  light  of  heaven 

Is  venal ;  earth's  unsparing  gifts  of  love. 

The  smallest  and  most  despicable  things 

That  lurk  in  the  abysses  of  the  deep, 

All  objects  of  our  life,— even  life  itself, 

And  the  poor  pittance  which  the  laws  allow 

Of  liberty, — the  fellowship  of  man, 

Those  duties  which  his  heart  of  human  love 

Should  urge  him  to  perform  instinctively, 

Are  bought  and  sold  as  in  a  public  mart 

Of  undisguising  selfishness,  that  sets 

On  each  its  price,  the  stamp-mark  of  her  reign. 

Even  love  is  sold  :  the  solace  of  all  woe 

Is  turned  to  deadliest  agony : — old  age 

Shivers  in  selfish  beauty's  loathing  arms, 

And  youth's  corrupted  impulses  prepare 

A  life  of  horror  from  the  blighting  bane 

Of  commerce ;  whilst  the  pestilence  that  springs 

From  unenjoying  sensualism,  has  filled 

All  human  life  with  hydra-headed  woes. 

Falsehood  demands  but  gold  to  pay  the  pangs 
Of  outraged  conscience ;  for  the  slavish  priest 
Sets  no  great  value  on  his  hireling  faith : 
A  little  passing  pomp,  some  servile  souls, 
Whom  cowardice  itself  might  safely  chain, 
Or  the  spare  mite  of  avarice  could  bribe 
To  deck  the  triumph  of  their  languid  zeal, 
Can  make  him  minister  to  tyranny. 
More  daring  crime  requires  a  loftier  meed : 


40  QUEEN  MAB.  [V. 

Without  a  shudder,  the  slave-soldier  lends 

His  arms  to  murderous  deeds,  and  steels  his  heart, 

When  the  dread  eloquence  of  dying  men, 

Low  mingling  on  the  lonely  field  of  fame, 

Assails  that  nature,  whose  applause  he  sells 

For  the  gross  blessings  of  a  patriot  mob, 

For  the  vile  gratitude  of  heartless  kings, 

And  for  a  cold  world's  good  word,-— viler  still ! 

There  is  a  nobler  glory,  which  survives 

Until  our  being  fades,  and,  solacing 

All  human  care,  accompanies  its  change ; 

Deserts  not  virtue  in  the  dungeon's  gloom, 

And,  in  the  precincts  of  the  palace,  guides 

Her  footsteps  through  that  labyrinth  of  crime ; 

Imbues  her  lineaments  with  dauntlessness, 

Even  when,  from  power's  avenging  hand,  she  takes 

Her  sweetest,  last,  and  noblest  title — death ! 

— The  consciousness  of  good,  which  neither  gold, 

Nor  sordid  fame,  nor  hope  of  heavenly  bliss, 

Can  purchase  ;  but  a  life  of  resolute  good, 

Unalterable  will,  quenchless  desire 

Of  universal  happiness,  the  heart 

That  beats  with  it  in  unison,  the  brain, 

Whose  ever  wakeful  wisdom  toils  to  change 

Reason's  rich  stores  for  its  eternal  weal. 

This  commerce  of  sincerest  virtue  needs 
No  mediative  signs  of  selfishness, — 
No  jealous  intercourse  of  wretched  gain, — 
No  balancings  of  prudence,  cold  and  long ; 
In  just  and  equal  measure  all  is  weighed, 
One  scale  contains  the  sum  of  human  weal, 
And  one,  the  good  man's  heart. 

How  vainly  seek 
The  selfish  for  that  happiness  denied 
To  aught  but  virtue !     Blind  and  hardened,  they, 
Who  hope  for  peace  amid  the  storms  of  care, 
Who  covet  power  they  know  not  how  to  use, 
And  sigh  for  pleasure  they  refuse  to  give, — 
Madly  they  frustrate  still  their  own  designs ; 
And,  where  they  hope  that  quiet  to  enjoy 
Which  virtue  pictures,  bitterness  of  soul, 


VI.]  QUEEN   MAB.  41 

Pining  regrets,  and  vain  repentances, 
Disease,  disgust,  and  lassitude,  pervade 
Their  valueless  and  miserable  lives. 

But  hoary-headed  selfishness  has  felt 
Its  death-blow,  and  is  tottering  to  the  grave : 
A  brighter  morn  awaits  the  human  day, 
When  every  transfer  of  earth's  natural  gifts 
Shall  be  a  commerce  of  good  words  and  works  ; 
When  poverty  and  wealth,  the  thirst  of  fame. 
The  fear  of  infamy,  disease,  and  woe, 
War  with  its  million  horrors,  and  fierce  hell 
Shall  live  but  in  the  memory  of  time, 
Who,  like  a  penitent  libertine,  shall  start, 
Look  back,  and  shudder  at  his  younger  years. 


VI. 

all  ear, 

The  Spirit  felt  the  Fairy's  burning  speech. 

O'er  the  thin  texture  of  its  frame, 
The  varying  periods  painted  changing  glows, 

As  on  a  summer  even, 
When  soul-enfolding  music  floats  around, 
The  stainless  mirror  of  the  lake 
Re-images  the  eastern  gloom, 
Mingling  convulsively  its  purple  hues 
With  sunset's  burnished  gold. 

Then  thus  the  Spirit  spoke : 
It  is  a  wild  and  miserable  world ! 

Thorny,  and  full  of  care, 
Which  every  fiend  can  make  his  prey  at  will. 
0  Fairy !  in  the  lapse  of  years, 
Is  there  no  hope  in  store  ? 
Will  yon  vast  suns  roll  on 
Interminably,  still  illumining 
The  night  of  so  many  wretched  souls, 
And  see  no  hope  for  them  ? 
Will  not  the  universal  Spirit  e'er 
Revivify  this  withered  limb  of  Heaven  ? 


42  QUEEN   MAB.  (VI. 

The  Fairy  calmly  smiled 
In  comfort,  and  a  kindling  gleam  of  hope 

Suffused  the  Spirit's  lineaments. 
Oh  !  rest  thee  tranquil :  chase  those  fearful  doubts, 
Which  ne'er  could  rack  an  everlasting  soul, 
That  sees  tke  chains  which  bind  it  to  its  doom. 
Yes  !  crime  and  misery  are  in  yonder  earth. 

Falsehood,  mistake,  and  lust ; 

But  the  eternal  world 
Contains  at  once  the  evil  and  the  cure. 
Some  eminent  in  virtue  shall  start  up, 

Even  in  perversest  time : 
The  truths  of  their  pure  lips,  that  never  die, 
Shall  bind  the  scorpion  falsehood  with  a  wreath 

Of  ever-living  flame, 
Until  the  monster  sting  itself  to  death. 

How  sweet  a  scene  will  earth  become ! 
Of  purest  spirits,  a  pure  dwelling-place, 
Symphonious  with  the  planetary  spheres, 
"When  man,  with  changeless  nature  coalescing, 
Will  undertake  regeneration's  work, 
When  its  ungenial  poles  no  longer  point 

To  the  red  and  baleful  sun 

That  faintly  twinkles  there. 

Spirit !  on  yonder  earth, 
Falsehood  now  triumphs ;  deadly  power 
Has  fixed  its  seal  upon  the  lip  of  truth  ! 

Madness  and  misery  are  there ! 
The  happiest  is  most  wretched !  yet  confide, 
Until  pure  health-drops  from  the  cup  of  joy, 
Fall  like  a  dew  of  balm  upon  the  world. 
Now,  to  the  scene  I  show,  in  silence  turn, 
And  read  the  blood-stained  charter  of  all  woe, 
Which  nature  soon,  with  re-creating  hand, 
Will  blot  in  mercy  from  the  book  of  earth. 
How  bold  the  flight  of  passion's  wandering  wing, 
How  swift  the  step  of  reason's  firmer  tread, 
How  calm  and  sweet  the  victories  of  life, 
How  terrorless  the  triumph  of  the  grave ! 
How  powerless  were  the  mightiest  monarch's  arm 
Vain  his  loud  threat,  and  impotent  his  frown ! 
How  ludicrous  the  priest's  dogmatic  roar ! 
The  weight  of  his  exterminating  curse, 
How  light !  and  his  affected  charity. 


VI-3  QUEEN   MAB.  43 

To  suit  the  pressure  of  the  changing  times. 
What  palpable  deceit ! — but  for  thy  aid, 
Religion !  but  for  thee,  prolific  fiend, 
Who  peoplest  earth  with  demons,  hell  with  men, 
And  heaven  with  slaves  ! 

Thou  taintest  all  thou  lookest  upon !  the  stars, 

Which  on  thy  cradle  beamed  so  brightly  sweet. 

Were  gods  to  the  distempered  playfulness 

Of  thy  untutored  infancy ;  the  trees, 

The  grass,  the  clouds,  the  mountains,  and  the  sea, 

All  living  things  that  walk,  swim,  creep,  or  fly, 

WTere  gods ;  the  sun  had  homage,  and  the  moon 

Her  worshipper.     Then  thou  becamest  a  boy, 

More  daring  in  thy  frenzies :  every  shape, 

Monstrous  or  vast,  or  beautifully  wild, 

Which,  from  sensation's  relics,  fancy  culls ; 

The  spirits  of  the  air,  the  shuddering  ghost, 

The  genii  of  the  elements,  the  powers 

That  give  a  shape  to  nature's  varied  works, 

Had  life  and  faith  in  the  corrupt  belief 

Of  thy  blind  heart :  yet  still  thy  youthful  hands 

Were  pure  of  human  blood.     Then  manhood  gave 

Its  strength  and  ardour  to  thy  frenzied  brain : 

Thine  eager  gaze  scanned  the  stupendous  scene, 

Whose  wonders  mocked  the  knowledge  of  thy  pride : 

Their  everlasting  and  unchanging  laws 

Reproached  thine  ignorance.    Awhile  thou  stoodst 

Baffled  and  gloomy;  then  thou  didst  sum  up 

The  elements  of  all  that  thou  didst  know ; 

The  changing  seasons,  winter's  leafless  reign. 

The  budding  of  the  heaven-breathing  trees, 

The  eternal  orbs  that  beautify  the  night, 

The  sun-rise,  and  the  setting  of  the  moon, 

Earthquakes  and  wars,  and  poisons  and  disease, 

And  all  their  causes,  to  an  abstract  point, 

Converging,  thou  didst  bend,  and  called  it — God  ! 

The  self-sufficing,  the  omnipotent, 

The  merciful,  and  the  avenging  God ! 

Who,  prototype  of  human  misrule,  sits 

High  in  heaven's  realm,  upon  a  golden  throne, 

Even  like  an  earthly  king :  and  whose  dread  work, 

Hell  gapes  for  ever  for  the  unhappy  slaves 

Of  fate,  whom  he  created,  in  his  sport, 


44  QUEEN   MAB.  [VI. 

To  triumph  in  their  torments  when  they  fell ! 

Earth  heard  the  name  ;  earth  trembled,  as  the  smoke 

Of  his  revenge  ascended  up  to  heaven, 

Blotting  the  constellations ;  and  the  cries 

Of  millions,  butchered  in  sweet  confidence 

And  unsuspecting  peace,  even  when  the  bonds 

Of  safety  were  confirmed  by  wordy  oaths 

Sworn  in  his  dreadful  name,  rung  through  the  land ; 

Whilst  innocent  babes  writhed  on  thy  stubborn  spear ; 

And  thou  didst  laugh  to  hear  the  mother's  shriek 

Of  maniac  gladness,  as  the  sacred  steel 

Felt  cold  in  her  torn  entrails ! 

Religion !  thou  wert  then  in  manhood's  prime : 

But  age  crept  on ;  one  God  would  not  suffice 

For  senile  puerility;  thou  framedst 

A  tale  to  suit  thy  dotage,  and  to  glut 

Thy  misery-thirsting  soul,  that  the  mad  fiend 

Thy  wickedness  had  pictured,  might  afford 

A  plea  for  sating  the  unnatural  thirst 

For  murder,  rapine,  violence,  and  crime, 

That  still  consumed  thy  being,  even  when 

Thou  heardest  the  step  of  fate  !  that  flames  might  light 

Thy  funeral  scene,  and  the  shrill  horrent  shrieks 

Of  parents  dying  on  the  pile  that  burned 

To  light  their  children  to  thy  paths,  the  roar 

Of  the  encircling  flames,  the  exulting  cries 

Of  thine  apostles,  loud  commingling  there, 

Might  sate  thine  hungry  ear 

Even  on  the  bed  of  death ! 

But  now  contempt  is  mocking  thy  grey  hairs  j 
Thou  art  descending  to  the  darksome  grave, 
Unhonoured  and  unpitied,  but  by  those 
Whose  pride  is  passing  by  like  thine,  and  sheds, 
Like  thine,  a  glare  that  fades  before  the  sun 
Of  truth,  and  shines  but  in  the  dreadful  night 
That  long  has  lowered  above  the  ruined  world. 

Throughout  these  infinite  orbs  of  mingling  light, 
Of  which  yon  earth  is  one,  is  wide  diffused 
A  spirit  of  activity  and  life, 
That  knows  no  term,  cessation,  or  decay ; 
That  fades  not  when  the  lamp  of  earthly  life, 


VI.J  QUEEN   MAB. 

Extinguished  in  the  dampness  of  the  grave, 

Awhile  there  slumbers,  more  than  when  the  babe 

In  the  dim  newness  of  its  being  feels 

The  impulses  of  sublunary  things, 

And  all  is  wonder  to  unpractised  sense  : 

But,  active,  stedfast,  and  eternal,  still 

Guides  the  fierce  whirlwind,  in  the  tempest  roars, 

Cheers  in  the  day,  breathes  in  the  balmy  groves, 

Strengthens  in  health,  and  poisons  in  disease ; 

And  in  the  storm  of  change,  that  ceaselessly 

Rolls  round  the  eternal  universe,  and  shakes 

Its  undecaying  battlement,  presides, 

Apportioning  with  irresistible  law 

The  place  each  spring  of  its  machine  shall  fill ; 

So  that  when  waves  on  waves  tumultuous  heap 

Confusion  to  the  clouds,  and  fiercely  driven 

Heaven's  lightnings  scorch  the  uprooted  ocean-fords. 

Whilst,  to  the  eye  of  shipwrecked  mariner, 

Lone  sitting  on  the  bare  and  shuddering  rock, 

All  seems  unlinked  contingency  and  chance : 

No  atom  of  this  turbulence  fulfils 

A  vague  and  unnecessitated  task, 

Or  acts  but  as  it  must  and  ought  to  act. 

Even  the  minutest  molecule  of  light, 

That  in  an  April  sun-beam's  fleeting  glows, 

Fulfils  its  destined,  though  invisible  work, 

The  universal  Spirit  guides ;  nor  less, 

When  merciless  ambition,  or  mad  zeal, 

Has  led  two  hosts  of  dupes  to  battle-field, 

That,  blind,  they  there  may  dig  each  other's  graves. 

And  call  the  sad  work — glory,  does  it  rule 

All  passions :  not  a  thought,  a  will,  an  act, 

No  working  of  the  tyrant's  moody  mind, 

Nor  one  misgiving  of  the  slaves  who  boast 

Their  servitude,  to  hide  the  shame  they  feel, 

Nor  the  events  enchaining  every  will, 

That  from  the  depths  of  unrecorded  time 

Have  drawn  all-influencing  virtue,  pass 

Unrecognized,  or  unforeseen  by  thee, 

Soul  of  the  Universe !  eternal  spring 

Of  life  and  death,  of  happiness  and  woe, 

Of  all  that  chequers  the  phantasmal  scene 

That  floats  before  our  eyes  in  wavering  light 

Which  gleams  but  on  the  darkness  of  our  prison, 


45 


46  QUEEN   MAB.  [vi. 

Whose  chains  and  massy  walls 
We  feel,  but  cannot  see. 

Spirit  of  Nature !  all-sufficing  power, 

Necessity  !  thou  mother  of  the  world ! 

Unlike  the  God  of  human  error,  thou 

Requirest  no  prayers  or  praises  ;  the  caprice 

Of  man's  weak  will  belongs  no  more  to  thee 

Than  do  the  changeful  passions  of  his  breast 

To  thy  unvarying  harmony :  the  slave, 

Whose  horrible  lusts  spread  misery  o'er  the  world, 

And  the  good  man,  who  lifts,  with  virtuous  pride, 

His  being,  in  the  sight  of  happiness, 

That  springs  from  his  own  works ;  the  poison-tree, 

Beneath  whose  shade  all  life  is  withered  up, 

And  the  fair  oak,  whose  leafy  dome  affords 

A  temple  where  the  vows  of  happy  love 

Are  registered,  are  equal  in  thy  sight : 

No  love,  no  hate,  thou  cherishest ;  revenge 

And  favouritism,  and  worst  desire  of  fame 

Thou  knowest  not ;  all  that  the  wide  world  contains 

Are  but  thy  passive  instruments,  and  thou 

Regardest  them  all  with  an  impartial  eye, 

Whose  joy  or  pain  thy  nature  cannot  feel, 

Because  thou  hast  not  human  sense, 

Because  thou  art  not  human  mind. 

Yes ;  when  the  sweeping  storm  of  time 
Has  sung  its  death-dirge  o'er  the  ruined  fanes 
And  broken  altars  of  the  almighty  fiend, 
Whose  name  usurps  thy  honours,  and  the  blood 
Through  centuries  clotted  there,  has  floated  down 
The  tainted  flood  of  ages,  shalt  thou  live 
Unchangeable !  A  shrine  is  raised  to  thee, 

Which,  nor  the  tempest-breath  of  time, 

Nor  the  interminable  flood, 

Over  earth's  slight  pageant  rolling, 
Availeth  to  destroy,— 
The  sensitive  extension  of  the  world, 

That  wondrous  and  eternal  fane, 
Where  pain  and  pleasure,  good  and  evil  join, 
To  do  the  will  of  strong  necessity, 

And  life,  in  multitudinous  shapes, 
Still  pressing  forward  where  no  term  can  be, 

Like  hungry  and  unresting  flame 
Curls  round  the  eternal  columns  of  its  strength. 


VII.]  QUEEN   MAB.  47 


VII. 

SPIRIT. 

I  was  an  infant  when  my  mother  went 

To  see  an  atheist  burned.     She  took  me  there ; 

The  dark-robed  priests  were  met  around  the  pile  j 

The  multitude  was  gazing  silently : 

And  as  the  culprit  passed  with  dauntless  mein, 

Tempered  disdain,  in  his  un altering  eye, 

Mixed  with  a  quiet  smile,  shone  calmly  forth : 

The  thirsty  fire  crept  round  his  manly  limbs : 

His  resolute  eyes  were  scorched  to  blindness  soon; 

His  death-pang  rent  my  heart !  the  insensate  mob 

Uttered  a  cry  of  triumph,  and  I  wept. 

Weep  not,  child !  cried  my  mother,  for  that  man 


FAIRY. 

There  is  no  God ! 
Nature  confirms  the  faith  his  death-groan  sealed: 
Let  heaven  and  earth,  let  man's'revolving  race, 
His  ceaseless  generations  tell  their  tale; 
Let  every  part  depending  on  the  chain 
That  links  it  to  the  whole,  point  to  the  hand 
That  grasps  its  term  !  let  every  seed  that  falls 
In  silent  eloquence  unfold  its  store 
Of  argument ;  infinity  within, 
Infinity  without,  belie  creation ; 
The  exterminable  spirit  it  contains 
Is  nature's  only  God ;  but  human  pride 
Is  skilful  to  invent  most  serious  names 
To  hide  its  ignorance. 

The  name  of  God 
Has  fenced  about  all  crime  with  holiness, 
Himself  the  creature  of  his  worshippers, 
Whose  names,  and  attributes,  and  passions  change, 
Seeva,  Buddh,  Foh,  Jehovah,  God,  or  Lord, 
Even  with  the  human  dupes  who  build  his  shrines, 
Still  serving  o'er  the  war-polluted  world 
For  desolation's  watch-word  ;  whether  hosts 
Stain  his  death-blushing  chariot-wheels,  as  on 


48  QUEEN   MAB.  [VII. 

Triumphantly  they  roll,  whilst  Brahmins  raise 

A  sacred  hymn  to  mingle  with  the  groans ; 

Or  countless  partners  of  his  power  divide 

His  tyranny  to  weakness ;  or  the  smoke 

Of  burning  towns,  the  cries  of  female  helplessness, 

Unarmed  old  age,  and  youth,  and  infancy, 

Horribly  massacred,  ascend  to  heaven 

In  honour  of  his  name  ;  or,  last  and  worst. 

Earth  groans  beneath  religion's  iron  age, 

And  priests  dare  babble  of  a  God  of  peace, 

Even  whilst  their  hands  are  red  with  guiltless  blood, 

Murdering  the  while,  uprooting  every  germ 

Of  truth,  exterminating,  spoiling  all, 

Making  the  earth  a  slaughter-house ! 

O  Spirit !  through  the  sense 
By  which  thy  inner  nature  was  apprised 

Of  outward  shews,  vague  dreams  have  rolled, 
And  varied  reminiscences  have  waked 

Tablets  that  never  fade ; 
All  things  have  been  imprinted  there, 
The  stars,  the  sea,  the  earth,  the  sky, 
Even  the  unshapeless  lineaments 
Of  wild  and  fleeting  visions 
Have  left  a  record  there 
To  testify  of  earth. 

These  are  my  empire,  for  to  me  is  given 
The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep, 
And  fancy's  thin  creations  to  endow 
With  manner,  being,  and  reality ; 
Therefore  a  wondrous  phantom,  from  the  dreams 
Of  human  error's  dense  and  purblind  faith, 
I  will  evoke,  to  meet  thy  questioning. 
Ahasuerus,  rise ! 

A  strange  and  woe-worn  wight 
Arose  beside  the  battlement, 

And  stood  unmoving  there. 
His  inessential  figure  cast  no  shade 

Upon  the  golden  floor ; 
His  port  and  mien  bore  mark  of  many  years, 
And  chronicles  of  untold  ancientness 
"Were  legible  within  his  beamless  eye  : 


VII.]  QUEEN    MAB.  49 

Yet  his  cheek  bore  the  mark  of  youth : 
Freshness  and  vigour  knit  his  manly  frame ; 
The  wisdom  of  old  age  was  mingled  there 

With  youth's  primaeval  dauntlessness ; 
And  inexpressible  woe, 
Chastened  by  fearless  resignation,  gave 
An  awful  grace  to  his  all- speaking  brow. 

SPIRIT. 

Is  there  a  God  ? 

AHASUERUS. 

Is  there  a  God? — aye,  an  almighty  God, 
And  vengeful  as  almighty !  Once  his  voice 
Was  heard  on  earth;  earth  shuddered  at  the  sound; 
The  fiery-visaged  firmament  expressed 
Abhorrence,  and  the  grave  of  nature  yawned 
To  swallow  all  the  dauntless  and  the  good 
That  dared  to  hurl  defiance  at  his  throne, 
Girt  as  it  was  with  power.     None  but  slaves 
Survived, — cold-blooded  slaves,  who  did  the  work 
Of  tyrannous  omnipotence ;  whose  souls 
No  honest  indignation  ever  urged 
To  elevated  daring,  to  one  deed 
Which  gross  and  sensual  self  did  not  pollute. 
These  slaves  built  temples  for  the  omnipotent  fiend. 
Gorgeous  and  vast :  the  costly  altars  smoked 
With  human  blood,  and  hideous  paeans  rung 
Through  all  the  long-drawn  aisles.     A  murderer  heard 
His  voice  in  Egypt,  one  whose  gifts  and  arts 
Had  raised  him  to  his  eminence  in  power, 
Accomplice  of  omnipotence  in  crime, 
And  confident  of  the  all-knowing  one. 
These  were  Jehovah's  words. 

From  an  eternity  of  idleness 
I,  God,  awoke ;  in  seven  days'  toil  made  earth 
From  nothing ;  rested,  and  created  man  : 
I  placed  him  in  a  paradise,  and  there 
Planted  the  tree  of  evil,  so  that  he 
Might  eat  and  perish,  and  my  soul  procure 
Wherewith  to  sate  its  malice,  and  to  turn, 
Even  like  a  heartless  conqueror  of  the  earth, 
All  misery  to  my  fame.    The  race  of  men 
5 


60  QUEEN    MAB.  [VII. 

Chosen  to  my  honour,  with  impunity 
May  sate  the  lusts  I  planted  in  their  heart. 
Here  I  command  thee  hence  to  lead  them  on, 
Until,  with  hardened  feet,  their  conquering  troops 
Wade  on  the  promised  soil  through  woman's  blood, 
And  make  my  name  be  dreaded  through  the  land. 
Yet  ever-burning  flame  and  ceaseless  woe 
Shall  be  the  doom  of  their  eternal  souls, 
With  every  soul  on  this  ungrateful  earth, 
Virtuous  or  vicious,  weak  or  strong, — even  all 
Shall  perish  to  fulfil  the  blind  revenge 
(Which  you,  to  men,  call  justice)  of  their  God. 

The  murderer's  brow 
Quivered  with  horror. 

God  omnipotent, 
Is  there  no  mercy?  must  our  punishment 
Be  endless  ?  will  long  ages  roll  away, 
And  see  no  term  ?     Oh,  wherefore  hast  thou  made 
In  mockery  and  wrath  this  evil  earth  1 
Mercy  becomes  the  powerful — be  but  just : 

0  God !  repent  and  save. 

Oneway  remains: 

1  will  beget  a  son,  and  he  shall  bear 
The  sins  of  all  the  world  :  he  shall  arise 
In  an  unnoticed  corner  of  the  earth, 

And  there  shall  die  upon  a  cross,  and  purge 

The  universal  crime  ;  so  that  the  few 

On  whom  my  grace  descends,  those  who  are  marked 

As  vessels  to  the  honour  of  their  God, 

May  credit  this  strange  sacrifice,  and  save 

Their  souls  alive :  millions  shall  live  and  die, 

Who  ne'er  shall  call  upon  their  Saviour's  name, 

But,  unredeemed,  go  to  the  gaping  grave. 

Thousands  shall  deem  it  an  old  woman's  tale, 

Such  as  the  nurses  frighten  babes  withal: 

These,  in  a  gulf  of  anguish  and  of  flame, 

Shall  curse  their  reprobation  endlessly, 

Yet  tenfold  pangs  shall  force  them  to  avow, 

Even  on  their  beds  of  torment,  where  they  howl, 

My  honour  and  the  justice  of  their  doom. 

What  then  avail  their  virtuous  deeds,  their  thoughts 


VII.J  QUEEN    MAB.  51 

Of  purity,  with  radiant  genius  bright, 
Or  lit  with  human  reason's  earthly  ray? 
Many  are  called,  but  few  will  I  elect. 
Do  thou  my  bidding,  Moses ! 

Even  the  murderer's  cheek 
Was  blanched  with  horror,  and  his  quivering  lips 
Scarce  faintly  uttered — O  almighty  one, 
I  tremble  and  obey  ! 

0  Spirit !  centuries  have  set  their  seal 

On  this  heart  of  many  wounds,  and  loaded  brain, 

Since  the  incarnate  came  :  humbly  he  came, 

Veiling  his  horrible  Godhead  in  the  shape 

Of  man,  scorned  by  the  world,  his  name  unheard, 

Save  by  the  rabble  of  his  native  town, 

Even  as  a  parish  demagogue.     He  led 

The  crowd;  he  taught  them  justice,  truth,  and  peace 

In  semblance  ;  but  he  lit  within  their  souls 

The  quenchless  flames  of  zeal,  and  blest  the  sword 

He  brought  on  earth  to  satiate  with  the  blood 

Of  truth  and  freedom  his  malignant  soul. 

At  length  his  mortal  frame  was  led  to  death. 

1  stood  beside  him :  on  the  torturing  cross 
No  pain  assailed  his  unterrestrial  sense  ; 
And  yet  he  groaned.     Indignantly  I  summed 
The  massacres  and  miseries  which  his  name 
Had  sanctioned  in  my  country,  and  I  cried, 
Go  !  go  !  in  mockery. 

A  smile  of  godlike  malice  re-illumined 
His  fading  lineaments. — I  go,  he  cried, 
But  thou  shalt  wander  o'er  the  unquiet  earth 

Eternally. The  dampness  of  the  grave 

Bathed  my  imperishable  front.     I  fell, 
And  long  lay  tranced  upon  the  charmed  soil. 
When  I  awoke,  hell  burned  within  my  brain, 
Which  staggered  on  its  seat ;  for  all  around 
The  mouldering  relics  of  my  kindred  lay, 
Even  as  the  Almighty's  ire  arrested  them, 
And  in  their  various  attitudes  of  death 
My  murdered  children's  mute  and  eyeless  sculls 
Glared  ghastily  upon  me. 


I  QUEEN   MAB.  [vil. 

But  my  soul, 
From  sight  and  sense  of  the  polluting  woe 
Of  tyranny,  had  long  learned  to  prefer 
Hell's  freedom  to  the  servitude  of  heaven. 
Therefore  I  rose,  and  dauntlessly  began 
My  lonely  and  unending  pilgrimage, 
Resolved  to  wage  unweariable  war 
With  my  almighty  tyrant,  and  to  hurl 
Defiance  at  his  impotence  to  harm 
Beyond  the  curse  I  bore.     The  very  hand 
That  barred  my  passage  to  the  peaceful  grave 
Has  crushed  the  earth  to  misery,  and  given 
Its  empire  to  the  chosen  of  his  slaves. 
These  have  I  seen,  even  from  the  earliest  dawn 
Of  weak,  unstable,  and  precarious  power; 
Then  preaching  peace,  as  now  they  practise  war, 
So,  when  they  turned  but  from  the  massacre 
Of  unoffending  infidels,  to  quench 
Their  thirst  for  ruin  in  the  very  blood 
That  flowed  in  their  own  veins,  and  pitiless  zeal 
Froze  every  human  feeling,  as  the  wife. 
Sheathed  in  her  husband's  heart  the  sacred  steel, 
Even  whilst  its  hopes  were  dreaming  of  her  love  ; 
And  friends  to  friends,  brothers  to  brothers  stood 
Opposed  in  bloodiest  battle-field,  and  war, 
Scarce  satiable  by  fate's  last  death-draught  waged, 
Drunk  from  the  wine-press  of  the  Almighty's  wrath ; 
Whilst  the  red  cross,  in  mockery  of  peace, 
Pointed  to  victory !    When  the  fray  was  done, 
No  remnant  of  the  exterminated  faith 
Survived  to  tell  its  ruin,  but  the  flesh, 
With  putrid  smoke  poisoning  the  atmosphere, 
That  rotted  on  the  half  extinguished  pile. 

Yes  !  I  have  seen  God's  worshippers  unsheathe 
The  sword  of  his  revenge,  when  grace  descended, 
Confirming  all  unnatural  impulses, 
To  sanctify  their  desolating  deeds ; 
And  frantic  priests  waved  the  ill-omened  cross 
O'er  the  unhappy  earth :  then  shone  the  Sun 
On  showers  of  gore  from  the  upflashing  steel 
Of  safe  assassination,  and  all  crime 
Made  stingless  by  the  spirits  of  the  Lord, 
And  blood-red  rainbows  canopied  the  land. 


VII.J  QUEEN    MAB.  53 

Spirit !  no  year  of  my  eventful  being 

Has  passed  unstained  by  crime  and  misery,  [slaves 

Which  flows  from  God's  own  faith.     I've  marked  his 

With  tongues  whose  lies  are  venomous,  beguile 

The  insensate  mob,  and  whilst  one  hand  was  red 

With  murder,  feign  to  stretch  the  other  out 

For  brotherhood  and  peace  ;  and  that  they  now 

Babble  of  love  and  mercy,  whilst  their  deeds 

Are  marked  with  all  the  narrowness  and  crime 

That  freedom's  young  arm  dare  not  yet  chastise; 

Reason  may  claim  our  gratitude,  who  now 

Establishing  the  imperishable  throne 

Of  truth,  and  stubborn  virtue,  maketh  vain 

The  unprevailing  malice  of  my  foe, 

Whose  bootless  rage  heaps  torments  for  the  brave, 

Adds  impotent  eternities  to  pain, 

Whilst  keenest  disappointment  racks  his  breast 

To  see  the  smiles  of  peace  around  them  play, 

To  frustrate,  or  to  sanctify  their  doom. 

Thus  have  I  stood, — through  a  wild  waste  of  years 

Struggling  with  whirlwinds  of  mad  agony, 

Yet  peaceful,  and  serene,  and  self-enshrined, 

Mocking  my  powerless  tyrant's  horrible  curse 

With  stubborn  and  unalterable  will, 

Even  as  a  giant  oak,  which  heaven's  fierce  flame 

Had  scathed  in  the  wilderness,  to  stand 

A  monument  of  fadeless  ruin  there  ; 

Yet  peacefully  and  movelessly  it  braves 

The  midnight  conflict  of  the  wintry  storm, 

As  in  the  sun-light's  calm  it  spreads 

Its  worn  and  withered  arms  on  high 
To  meet  the  quiet  of  a  summer's  noon. 

The  Fairy  waved  her  wand : 
Ahasuems  fled 
Fast  as  the  shapes  of  mingled  shade  and  mist, 
That  lurk  in  the  glens  of  a  twilight  grove, 
Flee  from  the  morning  beam : 
The  matter  of  which  dreams  are  made 
Not  more  endowed  with  actual  life 
Than  this  phantasmal  portraiture 
Of  wandering  human  thought. 

5*  «'*  • 


54  QUEEN   MAB.  LvnI* 

VIII. 

The  present  and  the  past  thou  hast  beheld : 
It  was  a  desolate  sight.    Now,  Spirit,  learn 

The  secrets  of  the  future. — Time ! 
Unfold  the  brooding  pinion  of  thy  gloom, 
Render  thou  up  thy  half-devoured  babes. 
And  from  the  cradles  of  eternity, 
Where  millions  lie  lulled  to  their  portioned  sleep 
By  the  deep  murmuring  stream  of  passing  things, 
Tear  thou  that  gloomy  shroud. — Spirit,  behold 
Thy  glorious  destiny ! 

Joy  to  the  Spirit  came. 
Through  the  wide  rent  in  Time's  eternal  veil, 
Hope  was  seen  beaming  through  the  mists  of  fear; 

Earth  was  no  longer  hell ; 
Love,  freedom,  health,  had  given 
Their  ripeness  to  the  manhood  of  its  prime, 

And  all  its  pulses  beat 
Symphonious  to  the  planetary  spheres : 

Then  dulcet  music  swelled 
Concordant  with  the  life-strings  of  the  soul : 
It  throbbed  in  sweet  and  languid  beatings  there, 
Catching  new  life  from  transitory  death, — 
Like  the  vague  sighings  of  a  wind  at  even, 
That  wakes  the  wavelets  of  the  slumbering  sea 
And  dies  on  the  creation  of  its  breath, 
'And  sinks  and  rises,  fails  and  swells  by  fits : 
Was  the  pure  stream  of  feeling 
That  sprung  from  these  sweet  notes, 
And  o'er  the  Spirit's  human  sympathies 
With  mild  and  gentle  motion  calmly  flowed. 

Joy  to  the  Spirit  came, — 
Such  joy  as  when  a  lover  sees 
The  chosen  of  his  soul  in  happiness, 

And  witnesses  her  peace 
Whose  woe  to  him  were  bitterer  than  death, 

Sees  her  unfaded  cheek 
Glow  mantling  in  first  luxury  of  health, 

Thrills  with  her  lovely  eyes, 
Which  like  two  stars  amid  the  heaving  main 

Sparkle  through  liquid  bliss. 


VIII.]  QUEEN   MAB.  55 

Then  in  her  triumph  spoke  the  Fairy  Queen : 

I  will  not  call  the  ghost  of  ages  gone 

To  unfold  the  frightful  secrets  of  its  lore  • 

The  present  now  is  past, 
And  those  events  that  desolate  the  earth 
Have  faded  from  the  memory  of  Time, 
Who  dares  not  give  reality  to  that 
Whose  being  I  annul.     To  me  is  given 
The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep, 
Space,  matter,  time,  and  mind.     Futurity 
Exposes  now  its  treasure :  let  the  sight 
Renew  and  strengthen  all  thy  failing  hope. 
O  human  Spirit !  spur  thee  to  the  goal 
Where  virtue  fixes  universal  peace, 
And  midst  the  ebb  and  flow  of  human  things, 
Shew  somewhat  stable,  somewhat  certain  still, 
A  lighthouse  o'er  the  wild  of  dreary  waves. 

The  habitable  earth  is  full  of  bliss  ; 

Those  wastes  of  frozen  billows  that  were  hurled 

By  everlasting  snow-storms  round  the  poles, 

Where  matter  dared  not  vegetate  or  live. 

But  ceaseless  frost  round  the  vast  solitude 

Bound  its  broad  zone  of  stillness,  are  unloosed ; 

And  fragrant  zephyrs  there  from  spicy  isles 

Ruffle  the  placid  ocean-deep  that  rolls 

Its  broad,  bright  surges  to  the  sloping  sand. 

Whose  roar  is  wakened  into  echoings  sweet 

To  murmur  through  the  heaven-breathing  groves 

And  melodize  with  man's  blest  nature  there. 

Those  deserts  of  immeasurable  sand, 

Whose  age-collected  fervours  scarce  allowed 

A  bird  to  live,  a  blade  of  grass  to  spring, 

Where  the  shrill  chirp  of  the  green  lizard's  love 

Broke  on  the  sultry  silentness  alone, 

Now  teem  with  countless  rills  and  shady  woods, 

Corn-fields,  and  pastures,  and  white  cottages : 

And  where  the  startled  wilderness  beheld 

A  savage  conqueror  stained  in  kindred  blood, 

A  tigress  sating  with  the  flesh  of  lambs, 

The  unnatural  famine  of  her  toothless  cubs, 

Whilst  shouts  and  howlings  through  the  desert  rang, 

Sloping  and  smooth,  the  daisy-spangled  lawn, 


56  QUEEN   MAB.  [VIII. 

Offering  sweet  incense  to  the  sun-rise,  smiles 
To  see  a  babe  before  his  mother's  door, 

Sharing  his  morning's  meal 
With  the  green  and  golden  basilisk 

That  comes  to  lick  his  feet. 

Those  trackless  deeps,  where  many  a  weary  sail 
Has  seen  above  the  illimitable  plain, 
Morning  on  night,  and  night  on  morning  rise, 
Whilst  still  no  land  to  greet  the  wanderer  spread 
Its  shadowy  mountains  on  the  sun-bright  sea, 
Where  the  loud  roarings  of  the  tempest-waves 
So  long  have  mingled  with  the  gusty  wind 
In  melancholy  loneliness,  and  swept 
The  desert  of  those  ocean  solitudes, 
But  vocal  to  the  sea-bird's  harrowing  shriek, 
The  bellowing  monster,  and  the  rushing  storm, 
Now  to  the  sweet  and  many  mingling  sounds 
Of  kindliest  human  impulses  respond. 
Those  lonely  realms  bright  garden-isles  begem, 
With  lightsome  clouds  and  shining  seas  between, 
And  fertile  valleys,  resonant  with  bliss, 
Whilst  green  woods  overcanopy  the  wave, 
Which,  like  a  toil-worn  labourer,  leaps  to  shore, 
To  meet  the  kisses  of  the  flowrets  there. 

All  things  are  recreated,  and  the  flame 
Of  consentaneous  love  inspires  all  life : 
The  fertile  bosom  of  the  earth  gives  suck 
To  myriads  who  still  grow  beneath  her  care, 
Rewarding  her  with  their  pure  perfectness : 
The  balmy  breathings  of  the  wind  inhale 
Her  virtues,  and  diffuse  them  all  abroad : 
Health  floats  amid  the  gentle  atmosphere, 
Glows  in  the  fruits,  and  mantles  on  the  stream : 
No  storm  deforms  the  beaming  brow  of  heaven, 
.Nor  scatters  in  the  freshness  of  its  pride 
The  foliage  of  the  ever-verdant  trees ; 
But  fruits  are  ever  ripe,  flowers  ever  fair, 
And  autumn  proudly  bears  her  matron  grace, 
Kindling  a  flush  on  the  fair  cheek  of  spring. 
Whose  virgin  bloom  beneath  the  ruddy  fruit 
Reflects  its  tint  and  blushes  into  love. 


VIII.]  QUEEN   MAB.  57 

The  lion  now  forgets  to  thirst  for  blood : 

There  might  you  see  him  sporting  in  the  sun 

Beside  the  dreadless  kid ;  his  claws  are  sheathed, 

His  teeth  are  harmless,  custom's  force  has  made 

His  nature  as  the  nature  of  a  lamb. 

Like  passion's  fruit,  the  nightshade's  tempting  bane 

Poisons  no  more  the  pleasure  it  bestows ; 

All  bitterness  is  past;  the  cup  of  joy 

Unmingled  mantle's  to  the  goblet's  brim, 

And  courts  the  thirsty  lips  it  fled  before. 

But  chief,  ambiguous  man,  he  that  can  know 

More  misery,  and  dream  more  joy  than  all; 

Whose  keen  sensations  thrill  within  his  breast 

To  mingle  with  a  loftier  instinct  there, 

Lending  their  power  to  pleasure  and  to  pain, 

Yet  raising,  sharpening,  and  refining  each  ; 

Who  stands  amid  the  ever-varying  world, 

The  burthen  or  the  glory  of  the  earth  ; 

He  chief  perceives  the  change,  his  being  notes 

The  gradual  renovation,  and  defines 

Each  movement  of  its  progress  on  his  mind. 

Man,  where  the  gloom  of  the  long  polar  night 

Lowers  o'er  the  snow-clad  rocks  and  frozen  soil, 

Where  scarce  the  hardiest  herb  that  braves  the  frost 

Basks  in  the  moonlight's  ineffectual  glow, 

Shrank  with  the  plants,  and  darkened  with  the  night ; 

His  chilled  and  narrow  energies,  his  heart, 

Insensible  to  courage,  truth,  or  love, 

His  stunted  statue  and  imbecile  frame. 

Marked  him  for  some  abortion  of  the  earth, 

Fit  compeer  of  the  bears  that  roamed  around. 

Whose  habits  and  enjoyments  were  his  own; 

His  life  a  feverish  dream  of  stagnant  woe : 

Whose  meagre  wants  but  scantily  fulfilled, 

Apprised  him  ever  of  the  joyless  length 

Which  his  short  being's  wretchedness  had  reached ; 

His  death  a  pang,  which  famine,  cold,  and  toil 

Long  on  the  mind,  whilst  yet  the  vital  spark 

Clung  to  the  body  stubbornly,  had  brought ; 

All  was  inflicted  here  that  earth's  revenge 

Could  wreak  on  the  infringers  of  her  law ; 

One  curse  alone  was  spared— the  name  of  God. 


58  QUEEN   MAB.  [VIH. 

Nor  where  the  tropics  bound  the  realms  of  day 
With  a  broad  belt  of  mingling  cloud  and  flame, 
"Where  blue  mists  through  the  unmoving  atmosphere 
Scattered  the  seeds  of  pestilence,  and  fed 
Unnatural  vegetation,  where  the  land 
Teemed  with  all  earthquake,  tempest,  and  disease, 
Was  man  a  nobler  being  ;  slavery- 
Had  crushed  him  to  his  country's  blood-stained  dust; 
Or  he  was  bartered  for  the  fame  of  power, 
Which,  all  internal  impulses  destroying, 
Makes  human  will  an  article  of  trade  ; 
Or  he  was  changed  with  Christians  for  their  gold. 
And  dragged  to  distant  isles,  where  to  the  sound 
Of  the  flesh-mangling  scourge,  he  does  the  work 
Of  all-polluting  luxury  and  wealth, 
Which  doubly  visits  on  the  tyrants'  heads 
The  long  protracted  fulness  of  their  woe : 
Or  he  was  led  to  legal  butchery, 
To  turn  to  worms  beneath  that  burning  sun, 
Where  kings  first  leagued  against  the  rights  of  men, 
And  priests  first  traded  with  the  name  of  God. 

Even  where  the  milder  zone  afforded  man 

A  seeming  shelter,  yet  contagion  there, 

Blighting  his  being  with  unnumbered  ills, 

Spread  like  a  quenchless  fire  ;  nor  truth  till  late 

Availed  to  arrest  its  progress,  or  create 

That  peace  which  first  in  bloodless  victory  waved 

Her  snowy  standard  o'er  this  favoured  clime : 

There  man  was  long  the  train-bearer  of  slaves, 

The  mimic  of  surrounding  misery, 

The  jackal  of  ambition's  lion  rage, 

The  bloodhound  of  religion's  hungry  zeal. 

Here  now  the  human  being  stands  adorning 
This  loveliest  earth,  with  taintless  body  and  mind ; 
Blest  from  his  birth  with  all  bland  impulses, 
Which  gently  in  his  noble  bosom  wake 
All  kindly  passions  and  all  pure  desires. 
Him,  still  from  hope  to  hope  the  bliss  pursuing, 
Which  from  the  exhaustless  lore  of  human  weal 
Draws  on  the  virtuous  mind,  the  thoughts  that  rise 
In  time-destroying  infiniteness,  gift 
With  self-enshrined  eternity,  that  mocks 


IX.]  QUEEN    MAB.  59 

The  unprevailing  hoariness  of  age, 
And  man  once  fleeting  o'er  the  transient  scene 
Swift  as  an  unremembered  vision  stands 
Immortal  upon  earth  :  no  longer  now 
He  slays  the  lamb  that  looks  him  in  the  face, 
And  horribly  devours  his  mangled  flesh, 
Which  still  avenging  nature's  broken  law, 
Kindled  all  putrid  humours  in  his  frame, 
All  evil  passions,  and  all  vain  belief, 
Hatred,  despair,  and  loathing  in  his  mind, 
The  germs  of  misery,  death,  disease,  and  crime. 
No  longer  now  the  winged  habitants, 
That  in  the  woods  their  sweet  lives  sing  away, 
Flee  from  the  form  of  man ;  but  gather  round, 
And  prune  their  sunny  feathers  on  the  hands 
Which  little  children  stretch  in  friendly  sport 
.  Towards  these  dreadless  partners  of  their  play. 
All  things  are  void  of  terror :  man  has  lost 
His  terrible  prerogative,  and  stands 
An  equal  amidst  equals  :  happiness 
And  science  dawn  though  late  upon  the  earth ; 
Peace  cheers  the  mind,  health  renovates  the  frame* 
Disease  and  pleasure  cease  to  mingle  here, — 
Reason  and  passion  cease  to  combat  there; 
Whilst  each  unfettered  o'er  the  earth  extend 
Their  all-subduing  energies,  and  wield 
The  sceptre  of  a  vast  dominion  there ; 
Whilst  every  shape  and  mode  of  matter  lends 
Its  force  to  the  omnipotence  of  mind, 
Which  from  its  dark  mine  drags  the  gem  of  truth 
To  decorate  its  paradise  of  peace. 


IX. 

O  happy  Earth  !  reality  of  Heaven ! 

To  which  those  restless  souls  that  ceaselessly 

Throng  through  the  human  universe,  aspire ; 

Thou  consummation  of  all  mortal  hope  ! 

Thou  glorious  prize  of  blindly  working  will ! 

Whose  rays  diffused  throughout  all  space  and  time, 

Verge  to  one  point  and  blend  forever  there : 


60  QUEEN    MAB.  [lX, 

Of  purest  spirits  thou  pure  dwelling-place  ! 
Where  care  and  sorrow,  impotence  and  crime, 
Languor,  disease,  and  ignorance,  dare  not  come  : 
O  happy  Earth, — reality  of  Heaven ! 

Genius  has  seen  thee  in  her  passionate  dreams, 
And  dim  forebodings  of  thy  loveliness 
Haunting  the  human  heart,  have  there  entwined 
Those  rooted  hopes  of  some  sweet  place  of  bliss 
Where  friends  and  lovers  meet  to  part  no  more. 
Thou  art  the  end  of  all  desire  and  will, 
The  product  of  all  action :  and  the  souls 
That  by  the  paths  of  an  aspiring  change 
Have  reached  thy  haven  of  perpetual  peace, 
There  rest  from  the  eternity  of  toil 
That  framed  the  fabric  of  thy  perfectness. 

Even  Time,  the  conqueror,  fled  thee  in  his  fear ; 

That  hoary  giant,  who,  in  lonely  pride, 

So  long  had  ruled  the  world,  that  nations  fell 

Beneath  his  silent  footstep.     Pyramids, 

That  for  milleniums  had  withstood  the  tide 

Of  human  things,  his  storm-breath  drove  in  sand 

Across  that  desert  where  their  stones  survived 

The  name  of  him  whose  pride  had  heaped  them  there. 

Yon  monarch,  in  his  solitary  pomp, 

Was  but  the  mushroom  of  a  summer  day, 

That  his  light-winged  footstep  pressed  to  dust : 

Time  was  the  king  of  earth ;  all  things  gave  way 

Before  him,  but  the  fixed  and  virtuous  will, 

The  sacred  sympathies  of  soul  and  sense, 

That  mocked  his  fury  and  prepared  his  fall. 

Yet  slow  and  gradual  dawned  the  morn  of  love ; 

Long  lay  the  clouds  of  darkness  o'er  the  scene, 

Till  from  its  native  heaven  they  rolled  away: 

First,  crime,  triumphant  o'er  all  hope  careered 

Unblushing,  undisguising,  bold,  and  strong: 

Whilst  falsehood,  tricked  in  virtue's  attributes, 

Long  sanctified  all  deeds  of  vice  and  woe, 

Till  done  by  her  own  venomous  sting  to  death 

She  left  the  moral  world  without  a  law, 

No  longer  fettering  passion's  fearless  wing, 

Nor  searing  reason  with  the  brand  of  God. 

Then  steadily  the  happy  ferment  worked  : 


IX.]  QUEEN   MAB.  61 

Reason  was  free  ;  and  wild  though  passion  went 
Through  tangled  glens  and  wood-embosomed  meeds, 
Gathering  a  garland  of  the  strangest  flowers, 
Yet  like  the  bee  returning  to  her  queen, 
She  bound  the  sweetest  on  her  sister's  brow, 
Who,  meek  and  sober,  kissed  the  sportive  child. 
No  longer  trembling  at  the  broken  rod. 

Mild  was  the  slow  necessity  of  death: 

The  tranquil  Spirit  failed  beneath  its  grasp, 

Without  a  groan,  almost  without  a  fear, 

Calm  as  a  voyager  to  some  distant  land, 

And  full  of  wonder,  full  of  hope  as  he. 

The  deadly  germs  of  languor  and  disease 

Died  in  the  human  frame,  and  purity 

Blest  with  all  gifts  her  earthly  worshippers. 

How  vigorous  then  the  athletic  form  of  age ! 

How  clear  its  open  and  unwrinkled  brow ! 

Where  neither  avarice,  cunning,  pride,  or  care, 

Had  stamped  the  seal  of  grey  deformity 

On  all  the  mingling  lineaments  of  time. 

How  lovely  the  intrepid  front  of  youth  ! 

Which  meek-  eyed  courage  decked  with  freshest  grace,. 

Courage  of  soul,  that  dreaded  not  a  name, 

And  elevated  will,  that  journeyed  on 

Through  life's  phantasmal  scene  in  fearlessness, 

With  virtue,  love,  and  pleasure,  hand  in  hand. 

Then,  that  sweet  bondage  which  is  freedom's  self, 
And  rivets  with  sensation's  softest  tie 
The  kindred  sympathies  of  human  souls. 
Needed  no  fetters  of  tyrannic  law: 
Those  delicate  and  timid  impulses 
In  nature's  primal  modesty  arose, 
And  with  undoubting  confidence  disclosed 
The  growing  longings  of  its  dawning  love, 
Unchecked  by  dull  and  selfish  chastity, 
That  virtue  of  the  cheaply  virtuous, 
Who  pride  themselves  in  senselessness  and  frost, 
No  longer  prostitution's  venomed  bane 
Poisoned  the  springs  of  happiness  and  life; 
Woman  and  man,  in  confidence  and  love, 
Equal,  and  free,  and  pure,  together  trod 
6 


62  QUEEN   MAB.  [iX. 

The  mountain-paths  of  virtue,  which  no  more 
Were  stained  with  blood  from  many  a  pilgrim's  feet. 

Then,  where,  through  distant  ages,  long  in  pride 
The  palace  of  the  monarch-slave  had  mocked 
Famine's  faint  groan,  and  penury's  silent  tear, 
A  heap  of  crumbling  ruins  stood,  and  threw 
Year  after  year  their  stones  upon  the  field, 
Wakening  a  lonely  echo ;  and  the  leaves 
Of  the  old  thorn,  that  on  the  topmost  tower 
Usurped  the  royal  ensign's  grandeur,  shook 
In  the  stern  storm  that  swayed  the  topmost  tower 
And  whispered  strange  tales  in  the  whirlwind's  ear. 

Low  through  the  lone  cathedral's  roofless  aisles 

The  melancholy  winds  a  death-dirge  sung : 

It  were  a  sight  of  awfulness  to  see 

The  works  of  faith  and  slavery,  so  vast, 

So  sumptuous,  yet  so  perishing  withal ! 

Even  as  the  corpse  that  rests  beneath  its  wall. 

A  thousand  mourners  deck  the  pomp  of  death 

To-day,  the  breathing  marble  glows  above 

To  decorate  its  memory,  and  tongues 

Are  busy  of  its  life :  to-morrow  worms 

In  silence  and  in  darkness  seize  their  prey. 

Within  the  massy  prison's  mouldering  courts, 

Fearless  and  free  the  ruddy  children  played, 

Weaving  gay  chaplets  for  their  innocent  brows 

With  the  green  ivy  and  the  red  wall-fiower, 

That  mock  the  dungeon's  unavailing  gloom; 

The  ponderous  chains,  and  gratings  of  strong  iron, 

There  rusted  amid  heaps  of  broken  stone 

That  mingled  slowly  with  their  native  earth  : 

There  the  broad  beam  of  day,  which  feebly  once 

Lighted  the  cheek  of  lean  captivity 

With  a  pale  and  sickly  glare,  then  freely  shone 

On  the  pure  smiles  of  infant  playfulness : 

No  more  the  shuddering  voice  of  hoarse  despair 

Pealed  through  the  echoing  vaults,  but  soothing  notes 

Of  ivy-fingered  winds  and  gladsome  birds 

And  merriment  were  resonant  around. 

These  ruins  soon  left  not  a  wreck  behind : 
Their  elements,  wide  scattered  o'er  the  globe. 


IX.]  QUEEN    MAB. 

To  happier  shapes  were  moulded,  and  became 
Ministrant  to  all  blissful  impulses : 
Thus  human  things  were  perfected,  and  earth, 
Even  as  a  child  beneath  its  mother's  love, 
Was  strengthened  in  all  excellence,  and  grew 
Fairer  and  nobler  with  each  passing  year. 

Now  Time  his  dusky  pennons  o'er  the  scene 

Closes  in  stedfast  darkness,  and  the  past 

Fades  from  our  charmed  sight.     My  task  is  done : 

Thy  lore  is  learned.     Earth's  wonders  are  thine  own, 

With  all  the  fear  and  all  the  hope  they  bring. 

My  spells  are  past :  the  present  now  recurs. 

Ah  me  !  a  pathless  wilderness  remains 

Yet  unsubdued  by  man's  reclaiming  hand. 

Yet,  human  Spirit,  bravely  hold  thy  course, 

Let  virtue  teach  you  firmly  to  pursue 

The  gradual  paths  of  an  aspiring  change  : 

For  birth,  and  life,  and  death,  and  that  strange  state 

Before  the  naked  soul  has  found  its  home, 

All  tend  to  perfect  happiness,  and  urge 

The  restless  wheels  of  being  on  their  way, 

Whose  flashing  spokes,  instinct  with  infinite  life, 

Bicker  and  burn  to  gain  their  destined  goal. 

For  birth  but  wakes  the  spirit  to  the  sense 

Of  outward  shows,  whose  inexperienced  shape 

New  modes  of  passion  to  its  frame  may  lend; 

Life  is  its  state  of  action,  and  the  store 

Of  all  events  is  aggregated  there 

That  variegate  the  eternal  universe ; 

Death  is  a  gate  of  dreariness  and  gloom, 

That  leads  to  azure  isles  and  beaming  skies 

And  happy  regions  of  eternal  hope. 

Therefore,  O  Spirit !  fearlessly  bear  on : 

Though  storms  may  break  the  primrose  on  its  stalk, 

Though  frost  may  blight  the  freshness  of  its  bloom, 

Yet  spring's  awakening  breath  will  woo  the  earth, 

To  feed  with  kindliest  dews  its  favourite  flower, 

That  blooms  in  mossy  banks  and  darksome  glens, 

Lighting  the  greenwood  with  its  sunny  smile. 

Fear  not  then,  Spirit,  death's  disrobing  hand, 
So  welcome  when  the  tyrant  is  awake, 


64  QUEEN   MAB.  [iX. 

So  welcome  when  the  bigot's  hell-touch  burns ; 
'Tis  but  the  voyage  of  a  darksome  hour, 
The  transient  gulf-dream  of  a  startling  sleep. 
Death  is  no  foe  to  virtue :  Earth  has  seen 
Love's  brightest  roses  on  the  scaffold  bloom, 
Mingling  with  freedom's  fadeless  laurels  there, 
And  presaging  the  truth  of  visioned  bliss. 
Are  there  not  hopes  within  thee,  which  this  scene 
Of  linked  and  gradual  being  has  confirmed  ? 
Whose  stingings  bade  thy  heart  look  further  still, 
When  to  the  moonlight  walk  by  Henry  led, 
Sweetly  and  sadly  thou  didst  talk  of  death? 
And  wilt  thou  rudely  tear  them  from  thy  breast, 
Listening  supinely  to  a  bigot's  creed, 
Or  tamely  crouching  to  the  tyrant's  rod, 
Whose  iron  thongs  are  red  with  human  gore  ? 
Never  :  but  bravely  bearing  on,  thy  will 
Is  destined  an  eternal  war  to  wage 
With  tyranny  and  falsehood,  and  uproot 
The  germs  of  misery  from  the  human  heart. 
Thine  is  the  hand  whose  piety  would  soothe 
The  thorny  pillow  of  unhappy  crime, 
Whose  impotence  an  easy  pardon  gains, 
Watching  its  wanderings  as  a  friend's  disease: 
Thine  is  the  brow  whose  mildness  would  defy 
Its  fiercest  rage,  and  brave  its  sternest  will, 
When  fenced  by  power  and  master  of  the  world. 
Thou  art  sincere  and  good;  of  resolute  mind, 
Free  from  heart-withering  custom's  cold  control, 
Of  passion  lofty,  pure,  and  unsubdued. 
Earth's  pride  and  meanness  could  not  vanquish  thee, 
And  therefore  art  thou  worthy  of  the  boon 
Which  thou  hast  now  received :  virtue  shall  keep 
Thy  footsteps  in  the  path  that  thou  hast  trod, 
And  many  days  of  beaming  hope  shall  bless 
Thy  spotless  life  of  sweet  and  sacred  love. 
Go,  happy  one,  and  give  that  bosom  joy, 

Whose  sleepless  spirit  waits  to  catch 

Light,  life,  and  rapture  from  thy  smile. 

The  Fairy  waves  her  wand  of  charm. 
Speechless  with  bliss  the  spirit  mounts  the  car, 

That  rolled  beside  the  battlement, 
Bending  her  beamy  eyes  in  thankfulness. 


IX.]  QUEEN    MAB. 

Again  the  enchanted  steeds  were  yoked, 
Again  the  burning  wheels  inflame 
The  steep  descent  of  heaven's  untrodden  way. 
Fast  and  far  the  chariot  flew : 
The  vast  and  fiery  globes  that  rolled 
Around  the  Fairy's  palace-gate 
Lessened  by  slow  degrees,  and  soon  appeared 
Such  tiny  twinklers  as  the  planet  orbs 
That  there  attendant  on  the  solar  power 
With  borrowed  light  pursued  their  narrower  way. 
Earth  floated  then  below : 
The  chariot  paused  a  moment  there ; 
The  Spirit  then  descended : 
The  restless  coursers  pawed  the  ungenial  soil, 
Snuffed  the  gross  air,  and  then,  their  errand  done, 
Unfurled  their  pinions  to  the  winds  of  heaven. 

The  Body  and  the  Soul  united  then, 
A  gentle  start  convulsed  lanthe's  frame : 
Her  veiny  eyelids  quietly  unclosed ; 
Moveless  awhile  the  dark  blue  orbs  remained : 
She  looked  around  in  wonder  and  beheld 
Henry,  who  kneeled  in  silence  by  her  couch, 
Watching  her  sleep  with  looks  of  speechless  love, 
And  the  bright  beaming  stars 
That  through  the  casement  shone. 


6* 


NOTES. 


I.    Page  15. 


The  sun's  unclouded  orb 

Rolled  through  the  black  concave. 

Beyond  our  atmosphere,  the  sun  would  appear  a  rayless 
orb  of  fire  in  the  midst  of  a  black  concave.  The  equal  diffu- 
sion of  its  light  on  earth  is  owing  to  the  refraction  of  the  rays 
by  the  atmosphere,  and  their  reflection  from  other  bodies. 
Light  consists  either  of  vibrations  propagated  through  a  sub- 
tle medium,  or  of  numerous  minute  particles  repelled  in  all  di- 
rections from  the  luminous  body.  Its  velocity  greatly  ex- 
ceeds that  of  any  substance  with  which  we  are  acquainted: 
observations  on  the  eclipses  of  Jupiter's  satellites  have  de- 
monstrated that  light  takes  up  no  more  than  eight  minutes 
and  seven  seconds  in  passing  from  the  sun  to  the  earth,  a  dis- 
tance of  95,000,000  miles.  Some  idea  may  be  gained  of  the 
immense  distance  of  the  fixed  stars,  when  it  is  computed 
that  many  years  would  elapse  before  light  could  reach  this 
earth  from  the  nearest  of  them ;  yet  in  one  year  light  travels 
5,422,400,000,000  miles,  which  is  at  a  distance  5,707,600 
times  greater  than  that  of  the  sun.from  the  earth. 

I.  Page  15. 

Whilst  round  the  chariot's  way 
Innumerable  systems  rolled. 

The  plurality  of  worlds,  the  indefinite  immensity  of  the 
universe  is  a  most  awful  subject  of  contemplation.  He  who 
rightly  feels  its  mystery  and  grandeur  is  in  no  danger  of  se- 
duction from  the  falsehoods  of  religious  systems,  or  of  deify- 
ing the  principle  of  the  universe.    It  is  impossible  to  believe 


DO  NOTES. 

that  the  spirit  that  pervades  this  infinite  machine,  begat  a 
son  upon  the  body  of  a  Jewish  woman ;  or  is  angered  at 
the  consequences  of  that  necessity,  which  is  a  synonyme  of 
itself.  All  that  miserable  tale  of  the  Devil  and  Eve,  and  an 
Intercessor,  with  the  childish  mummeries  of  the  God  of  the 
Jews,  is  irreconcileable  with  the  knowledge  of  the  stars. 
The  works  of  his  fingers  have  borne  witness  against  him. 
The  nearest  of  the  fixed  stars  is  inconceivably  distant  from 
the  earth,  and  they  are  probably  proportionably  distant  from 
each  other.  By  a  calculation  of  the  velocity  of  light,  Syrius 
is  supposed  to  be  at  least  54,224,000,000,000,  miles  from  the 
earth.*  That  which  appears  only  like  a  thin,  silvery  cloud, 
streaking  the  heaven,  is  in  effect  composed  of  innumerable 
clusters  of  suns,  each  shining  with  its  own  light,  and  illumi- 
nating numbers  of  planets  that  revolve  around  them.  Mil- 
lions and  millions  of  suns  are  ranged  around  us,  all  attended 
by  innumerable  worlds,  yet  calm,  regular,  and  harmonious, 
all  keeping  the  paths  of  immutable  necessity. 

IV.  Page  32. 

These  are  the  hired  bravoes  who  defend 
The  tyrant's  throne. 

To  employ  murder  as  a  means  of  justice,  is  an  idea  which 
a  man  of  an  enlightened  mind  will  not  dwell  upon  with  plea- 
sure. To  march  forth  in  rank  and  file,  with  all  the  pomp  of 
streamers  and  trumpets,  for  the  purpose  of  shooting  at  our 
fellow-men  as  a  mark ;  to  inflict  upon  them  all  the  variety 
of  wound  and  anguish ;  to  leave  them  weltering  in  their 
blood ;  to  wander  over  the  field  of  desolation,  and  count  the 
number  of  the  dying  and  the  dead, — are  employments  which 
in  thesis  we  may  maintain  to  be  necessary,  but  which  no 
good  man  will  contemplate  with  gratulation  and  delight.  A 
battle  we  suppose  is  won  ; — thus  truth  is  established  ; — thus 
the  cause  of  justice  is  confirmed !  It  surely  requires  no  com- 
mon sagacity  to  discern  the  connexion  between  this  immense 
heap  of  calamities,  and  the  assertion  of  truth,  or  the  main- 
tenance of  justice. 

Kings,  and  ministers  of  state,  the  real  authors  of  the  ca- 
lamity, sit  unmolested  in  their  cabinet,  while  those  against 
whom  the  fury  of  the  storm  is  directed,  are,  for  the  most  part, 
persons  who  have  been  trepanned  into  the  service,  or  who 

*  See  Nicholson's  Encyclopedia,  art.  Light. 


NOTES.  69 

are  dragged  unwillingly  from  their  peaceful  homes  into  the 
field  of  battle.  A  soldier  is  a  man  whose  business  it  is  to 
kill  those  who  never  offended  him,  and  who  are  the  innocent 
martyrs  of  other  men's  iniquities.  Whatever  may  become 
of  the  abstract  question  of  the  justifiableness  of  war,  it  seems 
impossible  that  the  soldier  should  not  be  a  depraved  and 
unnatural  being. 

To  these  more  serious  and  momentous  considerations  it 
may  be  proper  to  add  a  recollection  of  the  ridiculousness  of 
the  military  character.  Its  first  constituent  is  obedience :  a 
soldier  is,  of  all  descriptions  of  men,  the  most  completely  a 
machine ;  yet  his  profession  inevitably  teaches  him  some- 
thing of  dogmatism,  swaggering,  and  self-consequence ;  he  is 
like  the  puppet  of  a  showman,  who,  at  the  very  time  he  is 
made  to  strut  and  swell  and  display  the  most  farcical  airs, 
we  perfectly  know  cannot  assume  the  most  insignificant  ges- 
ture, advance  either  to  the  right  or  the  left,  but  as  he  is  mov- 
ed by  his  exhibitor. — Godwin's  Enquirer,  Essay  v. 

I  will  here  subjoin  a  little  poem,  so  strongly  expressive  of 
my  abhorrence  of  despotism  and  falsehood,  that  I  fear  lest  it 
never  again  may  be  depictured  so  vividly.  This  opportunity 
is  perhaps  the  only  one  that  ever  will  occur  of  rescuing  it 
from  oblivion. 

FALSEHOOD  AND  VICE. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

Whilst  monarchs  laughed  upon  their  thrones 
To  hear  a  famished  nation's  groans, 
And  hugged  the  wealth  wrung  from  the  woe 
That  makes  its  eyes  and  veins  o'erflow, 
Those  thrones,  high  built  upon  the  heaps 
Of  bones  where  frenzied  famine  sleeps, 
Where  slavery  wields  her  scourge  of  iron, 

Red  with  mankind's  unheeded  gore. 
And  war's  mad  fiends  the  scene  environ, 

Mingling  with  shrieks  a  drunken  roar, 
There  vice  and  falsehood  took  their  stand, 
High  raised  above  the  unhappy  land. 

FALSEHOOD. 

Brother !  arise  from  the  dainty  fare, 
Which  thousands  have  toiled  and  bled  to  bestow ; 


70  NOTES. 

A  finer  feast  for  thine  hungry  ear 
Is  the  news  that  I  bring  of  human  woe. 

VICE. 

And,  secret  one,  what  hast  thou  done, 

To  compare,  in  thy  tumid  pride,  with  me  ? 

I,  whose  career,  through  the  blasted  year, 
Has  been  tracked  by  despair  and  agony. 

FALSEHOOD. 

What  have  I  done ! 1  have  torn  the  robe 

From  baby  Truth's  unsheltered  form, 

And  round  the  desolated  globe 
Borne  safely  the  bewildering  charm : 

My  tyrant-slaves  to  a  dungeon-floor 
Have  bound  the  fearless  innocent, 

And  streams  of  fertilizing  gore 

Flow  from  her  bosom's  hideous  rent, 
Which  this  unfailing  dagger  gave 

I  dread  that  blood  ! — no  more — this  day 

Is  ours,  though  her  eternal  ray 
Must  shine  upon  our  grave. 

Yet  know,  proud  Vice,  had  I  not  given 

To  thee  the  robe  I  stole  from  heaven, 

Thy  shaoe  of  ugliness  and  fear 

Had  never  gained  admission  here, 


And  know,  that  had  I  disdained  to  toil, 

But  sate  in  my  loathsome  cave  the  while, 

And  ne'er  to  these  hateful  sons  of  heaven, 

GOLD,  MONARCHY,  and  MURDER  given? 

Hadst  thou  with  all  thine  art  essayed 

One  of  thy  games  then  to  have  played, 

With  all  thine  overweening  boast, 

Falsehood  ?  I  tell  thee  thou  hadst  lost : — 

Yet  wherefore  this  dispute  ? — we  tend, 

Fraternal  to  one  common  end : 

In  this  cold  grave  beneath  my  feet, 

Will  our  hopes,  our  fears,  and  our  labours  meet. 

FALSEHOOD. 

I  brought  my  daughter,  RELIGION,  on  earth : 
She  smothered  Reason's  babes  in  their  birth : 


NOTES.  71 

But  dreaded  their  mother's  eye  severe,— 
So  the  crocodile  slunk  off  slily  in  fear, 

And  loosed  her  bloodhounds  from  the  den 

They  started  from  dreams  of  slaughtered  men, 

And  by  the  light  of  her  poison  eye, 

Did  her  work  o'er  the  wide  earth  frightfully ; 

The  dreadful  stench  of  her  torches  flare, 

Fed  with  human  fat,  polluted  the  air ! 

The  curses,  the  shrieks,  the  ceaseless  cries 

Of  the  many-mingling  miseries, 

As  on  she  trod,  ascended  high 

And  trumpeted  my  victory ! — 

Brother,  tell  what  thou  hast  done. 


I  have  extinguished  the  noon-day  sun, 
In  the  carnage  smoke  of  battles  won  : 
Famine,  murder,  hell,  and  power, 
Were  glutted  in  that  glorious  hour 
Which  searchless  fate  had  stamped  for  me 

With  the  seal  of  her  security 

For  the  bloated  wretch  on  yonder  throne 

Commanded  the  bloody  fray  to  rise : 
Like  me  he  joyed  at  the  stifled  moan 

Wrung  from  a  nation's  miseries ; 
While  the  snakes,  whose  slime  even  him  defiled. 
In  ecstasies  of  malice  smiled : 
They  thought  'twas  theirs, — but  mine  the  deed ! 
Theirs  is  the  toil,  but  mine  the  meed, 
Ten  thousand  victims  madly  bleed. 
They  dream  that  tyrants  goad  them  there 
With  poisonous  war  to  taint  the  air : 

These  tyrants  on  their  beds  of  thorn, 
•Swell  with  the  thoughts  of  murderous  fame, 
And  with  their  gains  to  lift  my  name, 

Restless  they  plan  from  night  to  morn  : 
I — I  do  all ;  without  my  aid 
Thy  daughter,  that  relentless  maid, 
Could  never  o'er  a  death-bed  urge 
The  fury  of  her  venomed  scourge. 

FALSEHOOD. 


Brother,  well : — the  world  is  ours ; 
And  whether  thou  or  I  have  won, 


72  NOTES. 

The  pestilence  expectant  lowers 

On  all  beneath  yon  blasted  sun. 
Our  joys,  our  toils,  our  honours  meet 
In  the  milk-white  and  wormy  winding  sheet : 
A  short-lived  hope,  unceasing  care, 
Some  heartless  scraps  of  godly  prayer, 
A  moody  curse,  and  a  frenzied  sleep 
Ere  gapes  the  graves  unclosing  deep, 
A  tyrant's  dream,  a  coward's  start, 
The  ice  that  clings  to  a  priestly  heart, 
A  judge's  frown,  a  courtier's  smile, 
Make  the  great  whole  for  which  we  toil ; 
And,  brother,  whether  thou  or  I 
Have  done  the  work  of  misery, 
It  little  boots  ;  thy  toil  and  pain, 
Without  my  aid  were  more  than  vain ; 
And  but  for  thee  I  ne'er  had  sate 
The  guardian  of  heaven's  palace  gate. 

V.  Page  35. 

Thus  do  the  generations  of  the  earth 

Go  to  the  grave,  and  issue  from  the  womb. 

One  generation  passeth  away  and  another  generation 
cometh,  but  the  earth  abideth  for  ever.  The  sun  also  ariseth 
and  the  sun  goeth  down,  and  hasteth  to  his  place  where  he 
arose.  The  wind  goeth  toward  the  south  and  turneth  about 
unto  the  north,  it  whirleth  about  continually,  and  the  wind 
returneth  again,  according  to  his  circuits.  All  the  rivers 
run  into  the  sea,  yet  the  sea  is  not  full  f  unto  the  place 
whence  the  rivers  come,  thither  shall  they  return  again. 

Ecclesiastes,  chap.  i. 

V.  Page  35. 

Even  as  the  leaves 
Which  the  keen  frost  wind  of  the  waning  year 
Has  scattered  on  the  forest  soil. 


Now  green  in  youth  now  withering  on  the  ground ; 

Another  race  the  following  spring  supplies ; 

They  fall  successive,  and  successive  rise : 

So  generations  in  their  course  decay ; 

So  flourish  these,  when  those  are  past  away. 

Pope's  Homer. 


NOTES.  73 


V.  Page  36. 

The  mob  of  peasants,  nobles,  priests,  and  kings. 

When  the  wide  ocean  maddening  whirlwinds  sweep, 

And  heave  the  billows  of  the  boiling  deep, 

Pleased  we  from  land  the  reeling  bark  survey, 

And  rolling  mountains  of  the  watery  way. 

Not  that  we  joy  another's  woes  to  see, 

But  to  reflect  that  we  ourselves  are  free. 

So,  the  dread  battle  ranged  in  distant  fields, 

Ourselves  secure,  a  secret  pleasure  yields. 

But  what  more  charming  than  to  gain  the  height 

Of  true  philosophy  ?     What  pure  delight 

From  Wisdom's  citadel  to  view  below, 

Deluded  mortals,  as  they  wandering  go 

In  quest  of  happiness  !  ah,  blindly  weak  ! 

For  fame,  for  vain  nobility  they  seek ; 

Labour  for  heapy  treasures,  night  and  day, 

And  pant  for  power  and  magisterial  sway. 

Oh,  wretched  mortals !  souls  devoid  of  light, 
Lost  in  the  shades  of  intellectual  night ! 

Dr.  Busby's  Lucretius. 

V.  Page  37. 

And  statesmen  boast 
Of  wealth  : 

There  is  no  real  wealth  but  the  labour  of  man.  Were  the 
mountains  of  gold,  and  the  valleys  of  silver,  the  world  would 
not  be  one  grain  of  corn  the  richer ;  no  one  comfort  would  be 
added  to  the  human  race.  In  consequence  of  our  conside- 
ration for  the  precious  metals,  one  man  is  enabled  to  heap 
to  himself  luxuries  at  the  expense  of  the  necessaries  of  his 
neighbour ;  a  system  admirably  fitted  to  produce  all  the  va- 
rieties of  disease  and  crime,  which  never  fail  to  characterize 
the  two  extremes  of  opulence  and  penury.  A  speculator 
takes  pride  to  himself  as  the  promoter  of  his  country's  pros- 
perity, who  employs  a  number  of  hands  in  the  manufacture 
of  articles  avowedly  destitute  of  use,  or  subservient  only  to 
the  unhallowed  cravings  of  luxury  and  ostentation.  The 
nobleman,  who  employs  the  peasants  of  his  neighbourhood 
in  building  his  palaces,  until  "jam  pauca  aratrojvgera 

7 


74  NOTES. 

regies  moles  relinquunt,"*  flatters  himself  that  he  has 
gained  the  title  of  a  patriot  by  yielding  to  the  impulses  of 
vanity.  The  shew  and  pomp  of  courts  adduce  the  same 
apology  for  its  continuance ;  and  many  a  fete  has  been  given, 
many  a  woman  has  eclipsed  her  beauty  by  her  dress,  to  be- 
nefit the  labouring  poor,  and  to  encourage  trade.  Who  does 
not  see  that  this  is  a  remedy  which  aggravates,  whilst  it 
palliates  the  countless  diseases  of  society  ?  The  poor  are 
set  to  labour, — for  what  1  Not  the  food  for  which  they; 
famish ;  not  the  blankets  for  want  of  which  their  babes  are 
frozen  by  the  cold  of  their  miserable  hovels :  not  those  com- 
forts of  civilization  without  which  civilized  man  is  far  more 
miserable  than  the  meanest  savage ;  oppressed  as  he  is  by 
all  its  insidious  evils,  within  the  daily  and  taunting  prospect 
of  its  innumerable  benefits  assiduously  exhibited  before  him : 
no  :  for  the  pride  of  power,  for  the  miserable  isolation  of 
pride,  for  the  false  pleasures  of  the  hundredth  part  of  socie- 
ty. No  greater  evidence  is  afforded  of  the  wide,  extended, 
and  radical  mistakes  of  civilized  man  than  this  fact ;  those 
arts  which  are  essential  to  his  very  being  are  held  in  the 
greatest  contempt ;  employments  are  lucrative  in  an  inverse 
ratio  to  their  usefulness  ;f  the  jeweller,  the  toyman,  the  ac- 
tor, gains  fame  and  wealth  by  the  exercise  of  his  useless 
and  ridiculous  art ;  whilst  the  cultivator  of  the  earth,  he, 
without  whom  society  must  cease  to  subsist,  struggles 
through  contempt  and  penury,  and  perishes  by  that  famine 
which,  but  for  his  unceasing  exertions,  would  annihilate 
the  rest  of  mankind. 

I  will  not  insult  common  sense  by  insisting  on  the  doc- 
trine of  the  natural  equality  of  man.  The  question  is  not 
concerning  its  desirableness,  but  its  practicability  :  so  far  as 
it  is  practicable,  it  is  desirable.  That  state  of  human  socie- 
ty which  approaches  nearer  to  an  equal  partition  of  its  be- 
nefits and  evils  should,  c&teris  paribus, I  be  preferred:  but 
so  long  as  we  conceive  that  a  wanton  expenditure  of  hu- 
man labour,  not  for  the  necessities,  not  even  for  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  mass  of  society,  but  for  the  egotism  and  ostenta- 
tion of  a  few  of  its  members,  is  defensible  on  the  ground  of 
public  justice,  so  long  we  neglect  to  approximate  to  the  re- 
demption of  the  human  race. 

*  These  piles  of  royal  structure,  will  soon  leave  but  few  acres  for  the 
plough. 

t  See  Rousseau,  "  L'Inegalite  parmi  les  Hommes,"  note  7. 
j  Making  allowances  on  both  sides. 


NOTES.  75 

Labour  is  required  for  physical,  and  leisure  for  moral  im- 
provement :  from  the  former  of  these  advantages  the  rich, 
and  from  the  latter  the  poor,  by  the  inevitable  conditions  of 
their  respective  situations,  are  precluded.  A  state  which 
should  combine  the  advantages  of  both,  would  be  subjected 
to  the  evils  of  neither.  He  that  is  deficient  in  firm  health, 
or  vigorous  intellect  is  but  half  a  man ;  hence  it  follows, 
that,  to  subject  the  labouring  classes  to  unnecessary  labour, 
is  wantonly  depriving  them  of  any  opportunities  of  intel- 
lectual improvement ;  and  that  the  rich  are  heaping  up  for 
their  own  mischief  the  disease,  lassitude,  and  ennui  by 
which  their  existence  is  rendered  an  intolerable  burthen. 

English  reformers  exclaim  against  sinecures, — but  the 
true  pension-list  is  the  rent-roll  of  the  landed  proprietors  : 
wealth  is  a  power  usurped  by  the  few,  to  compel  the  many 
to  labour  for  their  benefit.  The  laws  which  support  this 
system  derive  their  force  from  the  ignorance  and  credulity 
of  its  victims :  they  are  the  result  of  a  conspiracy  of  the 
few  against  the  many,  who  are  themselves  obliged  to  pur- 
chase this  pre-eminence  by  the  loss  of  all  real  comfort. 

The  commodities  that  substantially  contribute  to  the  sub- 
sistence of  the  human  species  form  a  very  short  catalogue, 
they  demand  from  us  but  a  slender  portion  of  industry.  If 
these  only  were  produced,  and  sufficiently  produced,  the 
species  of  man  would  be  continued.  If  the  labour  necessa- 
rily required  to  produce  them  were  equitably  3ivi3ed  among 
the  poor,  and  still  more,  if  it  were  equitably  divided  among 
all,  each  man's  share  of  labour  would  be  light,  and  his  por- 
tion of  leisure  would  be  ample.  There  was  a  time  when 
this  leisure  would  have  been  of  small  comparative  value  : 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  will  come,  when  it  will  be  ap- 
plied to  the  most  important  purposes.  Those  hours  which 
are  not  required  for  the  production  of  the  necessaries  of 
life,  may  be  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  the  understanding, 
the  enlarging  our  stock  of  knowledge,  the  refining  our 
taste,  and  thus  opening  to  us  new  and  more  exquisite  sour- 
ces of  enjoyment. 

********** 

It  was  perhaps  necessary  that  a  period  of  monopoly  and 
oppression  should  subsist,  before  a  period  of  cultivated 
equality  could  subsist.  Savages  perhaps  would  never  have 
been  excited  to  the  discovery  of  truth  and  the  invention  of 
art,  but  by  the  narrow  motives  which  such  a  period  affords. 
But,  surely,  after  the  savage  state  has  ceased,  and  men  have 


76  NOTES. 

set  out  in  the  glorious  career  of  discovery  and  invention, 
monopoly  and  oppression  cannot  be  necessary  to  prevent 
them  from  returning  to  a  state  of  barbarism. — Godwin's  En~ 
quirer,  Essay  II.    See  also  Pol.  Jus.  Book  VIII.  ch.  11. 

It  is  a  calculation  of  this  admirable  author,  that  all  the 
conveniences  of  a  civilized  life  might  be  produced,  if  socie- 
ty would  divide  the  labour  equally  among  its  members,  by 
each  individual  being  employed  in  labour  two  hours  during 
the  day. 

V.  Page  37. 

Or  religion 
Drives  his  wife  raving  mad. 

I  am  acquainted  with  a  lady  of  considerable  accomplish- 
ments, and  the  mother  of  a  numerous  family,  whom  the 
Christian  religion  has  goaded  to  incurable  insanity.  A 
parallel  case  is,  I  believe,  within  the  experience  of  every 
physician. 

For  some  the  approach  of  Death  and  Hell  to  stay, 
Their  parents,  friends,  and  country  will  betray. 

Dr.  Busby's  Lucretius. 

V.  Page  39. 

Even  love  is  sold. 

Not  even  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  is  exempt  from  the 
despotism  of  positive  institution.  Law  pretends  even  to 
govern  the  indisciplinable  wanderings  of  passion,  to  put 
fetters  on  the  clearest  deductions  of  reason,  and,  by  appeals 
to  the  will,  to  subdue  the  involuntary  affections  of  our  na- 
ture. Love  is  inevitably  consequent  upon  the  perception 
of  loveliness.  Love  withers  under  constraint :  its  very  es- 
sence is  liberty  :  it  is  compatible  neither  with  obedience, 
jealousy,  nor  fear ;  it  is  there  most  pure,  perfect,  and  unli- 
mited, where  its  votaries  live  in  confidence,  equality,  and 
unreserve. 

How  long  then  ought  the  sexual  connexion  to  last  1  what 
law  ought  to  specify  the  extent  of  the  grievances  which 
should  limit  its  duration  ?  A  husband  and  wife  ought  to 
continue  so  long  united  as  they  love  each  other :  any  law 
which  should  bind  them  to  cohabitation  for  one  moment 


NOTES.  77 

after  the  decay  of  their  affection,  would  be  a  most  intolerable 
tyranny,  and  the  most  unworthy  of  toleration.  How  odious 
an  usurpation  of  the  right  of  private  judgment  should  that 
law  be  considered,  which  should  make  the  ties  of  friend- 
ship indissoluble,  in  spite  Gf  the  caprices,  the  inconstancy, 
the  fallibility,  and  capacity  for  improvement  of  the  human 
mind  !  And  by  so  much  would  the  fetters  of  love  be  heavier 
and  more  unendurable  than  those  of  friendship,  as  love  is 
more  vehement  and  capricious,  more  dependant  on  those 
delicate  peculiarities  of  imagination,  and  less  capable  of  re- 
duction to  the  ostensible  merits  of  the  object. 

The  state  of  society  in  which  we  exist  is  a  mixture  of  feu- 
dal savageness  and  imperfect  civilization.  The  narrow 
and  unenlightened  morality  of  the  Christian  religion  is  an 
aggravation  of  these  evils.  It  is  not  even  until  lately  that 
mankind  have  admitted  that  happiness  is  the  sole  end  of 
the  science  of  ethics,  as  of  all  other  sciences ;  and  that  the 
fanatical  idea  of  mortifying  the  flesh  for  the  love  of  God 
has  been  discarded.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  an  ignorant  col- 
legian adduce  in  favour  of  Christianity,  its  hostility  to 
every  worldly  feeling  !* 

C.But  if  happiness  be  the  object  of  morality,  of  all  human 
unions  and  disunions ;  if  the  worthiness  of  every  action  is 
to  be  estimated  by  the  quantity  of  pleasurable  sensation  it  is 
calculated  to  produce,  then  the  connexion  of  the  sexes  is  so 
long  sacred  as  it  contributes  to  the  comfort  of  the  parties, 
and  is  naturally  dissolved  when  its  evils  are  greater  than  its 
benefits."  There  is  nothing  immoral  in  this  separation. 
Constancy  has  nothing  virtuous  in  itself,  independently  of 
the  pleasure  it  confers,  and  partakes  of  the  temporizing  spi- 
rit of  vice  in  proportion  as  it  endures  tamely  moral  defects 
of  magnitude  in  the  object  of  its  indiscreet  choice.  Love  is 
free :  jto  promise  forever  to  love  the  same  woman,  is  not  less 
absurd  than  to  promise  to  believe  the  same  creed  y  such  a 
vow,  in  both  cases,  excludes  us  from  all  enquiry.  The  lan- 
guage of  the  votarist  is  this :  The  woman  I  now  love  may 

*  The  first  Christian  Emperor  made  a  law  by  which  seduction  was  pu- 
nished with  death  ;  if  the  female  pleaded  her  own  consent,  she  also  was 
punished  with  death  :  if  the  parents  endeavoured  to  screen  the  criminals, 
they  also  were  banished,  and  their  estates  were  confiscated ;  the  slaves 
who  might  be  accessary  were  burned  alive,  or  forced  to  swallow  melted 
lead.  The  very  offspring  of  an  illegal  love  were  involved  in  the  conse- 
quences of  the  sentence. — Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,  &c.  vol.  ii.  page 
210.  See  also,  for  the  hatred  of  the  primitive  Christians  to  love,  and  even 
marriage,  page  269. 


L  ■ 


^   -   V,  JI&    -OOKt    A, 


X* 


78  NOTES. 

be  infinitely  inferior  to  many  others ;  the  creed  I  now  pro- 
fess may  be  a  mass  of  errors  and  absurdities ;  but  I  exclude 
myself  from  all  future  information  as  to  the  amiability  of 
the  one,  and  the  truth  of  the  other,  resolving  blindly,  and 
in  spite  of  conviction,  to  adhere  to  them. — Is  this  the  lan- 
guage of  delicacy  and  reason  ?  Is  the  love  of  such  a  frigid 
heart  of  more  worth  than  its  belief? 

The  present  system  of  constraint  does  no  more,  in  the 
majority  of  instances,  than  make  hypocrites  or  open  ene- 
mies. Persons  of  delicacy  and  virtue,  unhappily  united  to 
one  whom  they  find  it  impossible  to  love,  spend  the  loveliest 
season  of  their  life  in  unproductive  efforts  to  appear  other- 
wise than  they  are,  for  the  sake  of  the  feelings  of  their  part- 
ner or  the  welfare  of  their  mutual  offspring :  those  of  less 
generosity  and  refinement  openly  avow  their  dissappoint- 
ment,  and  linger  out  the  remnant  of  that  union,  which  only 
death  can  dissolve,  in  a  state  of  incurable  bickering  and 
■qj  hostility.  The  early  education  of  their  children  takes  its 
<  colour  from  the  squabbles  of  the  parents  ;  they  are  nursed  in 
a  systematic  school  of  ill-humour,  violence,  and  falsehood. 
. ,JZ  Had  they  been  suffered  to  part  at  the  moment  when  indif- 
ference rendered  their  union  irksome,  they  would  have  been 
spared  many  years  of  misery:  they  would  have  connected 
themselves  more  suitably,  and  would  have  found  that  hap- 
piness in  the  society  of  more  congenial  partners,  which 
is  forever  denied  them  by  the  despotism  of  marriage.  They 
would  have  been,  separately,  useful  and  happy  members  of 
society,  who,  whilst  united,  were  miserable,  and  rendered 
misanthropical  by  misery.  The  conviction  that  wedlock 
is  indissoluble  holds  out  the  strongest  of  all  temptations  to 
the  perverse  :  they  indulge  without  restraint  in  acrimony, 
and  all  the  little  tyrannies  of  domestic  life,  when  they  know 
that  their  victim  is  without  appeal.  If  this  connexion 
were  put  on  a  rational  basis,  each  would  be  assured  that  ha- 
bitual ill-temper  would  terminate  in  separation,  and  would 
check  this  vicious  and  dangerous  propensity, 

Prostitution  is  the  legitimate  offspring  of  marriage  and 
its  accompanying  errors.  Women,  for  no  other  crime  than 
having  followed  the  dictates  of  a  natural  appetite,  are  driven 
with  fury  from  the  comforts  and  sympathies  of  society.  It 
is  less  venial  than  murder  !  and  the  punishment  which  is 
inflicted  on  her  who  destroys  her  child  to  escape  reproach, 
is  lighter  than  the  life  of  agony  and  disease  to  which  the 
prostitute  is  irrecoverably  doomed.    Has  a  woman  obeyed 


<e 


NOTES.  79 

the  impulse  of  unerring  nature ! — society  declares  war 
against  her,  pityless  and  eternal  war :  she  must  be  the  tame 
slave,  she  must  make  no  reprisals;  theirs  is  the  right  of 
persecution,  hers  the  duty  of  endurance.  She  lives  a  life 
of  infamy ;  the  loud  and  bitter  laugh  of  scorn  scares  her 
from  all  return.  She  dies  of  long  and  lingering  disease  : 
yet  she  is  in  fault,  she  is  the  criminal,  she  the  froward  and 
untameable  child, — and  society,  forsooth,  the  pure  and  vir- 
tuous matron,  who  casts  her  as  an  abortion  from  her  unde- 
nted bosom  !  Society  avenges  herself  on  the  criminals  of 
her  own  creation  !  she  is  employed  in  anathematizing  the 
vice  to-day,  which  yesterday  she  was  the  most  zealous  to 
teach.  Thus  is  formed  one-tenth  part  of  the  population  of 
London:  meanwhile  the  evil  is  two-fold.  Young  men,  ex- 
cluded by  the  fanatical  idea  of  chastity  from  the  society  of 
modest  and  accomplished  women,  associate  with  these  vi- 
cious and  miserable  beings,  destroying  thereby  all  those 
exquisite  and  delicate  sensibilities,  whose  existence,  cold- 
hearted  worldlings  have  denied  ;  annihilating  all  genuine 
passion,  and  debasing  that  to  a  selfish  feeling  which  is  the 
excess  of  generosity  and  devotedness.  Their  body  and 
mind  alike  crumble  into  a  hideous  wreck  of  humanity ; 
idiotcy  and  disease  become  perpetuated  in  their  miserable 
offspring,  and  distant  generations  suffer  for  the  bigotted  mo- 
rality of  their  forefathers.  Chastity  is  a  monkish  and  evan- 
gelical superstition,  a  greater  foe  to  natural  temperance 
even  than  unintellectual  sensuality ;  it  strikes  at  the  root  of 
all  domestic  happiness,  and  consigns  more  than  half  of  the 
human  race  to  misery,  that  some  few  may  monopolize  ac- 
cording to  law.  A  system  could  not  well  have  been  devised 
more  studiously  hostile  to  human  happiness  than  marriage.  J 

I  conceive  that  from  the  abolition  of  marriage,  the  fit 
and  natural  arrangement  of  sexual  connexion  would  re- 
sult. I  by  no  means  assert  that  the  intercourse  would  be 
promiscuous :  on  the  contrary,  it  appears,  from  the  relation 
of  a  parent  to  a  child,  that  this  union  is  generally  of  long 
duration,  and  marked  above  all  others  with  generosity  and 
self-devotion.  But  this  is  a  subject  which  it  is  perhaps 
premature  to  discuss.  That  which  will  result  from  the  abo- 
lition of  marriage,  will  be  natural  and  right,  because  choice 
and  change  will  be  exempted  from  restraint. 

In  fact,  religion  and  morality,  as  they  now  stand,  com- 
pose a  practical  code  of  misery  and  servitude  :  the  genius 
of  human  happiness  must  tear  every  leaf  from  the  accursed 


>Jt 


80  NOTES. 

book  of  God,  ere  man  can  read  the  inscription  on  his  heart. 
How  would  morality,  dressed  up  in  stiff  stays  and  finery, 
start  from  her  own  disgusting  image,  should  she  look  in 
the  mirror  of  nature. 

VI.  Page  42. 

To  the  red  and  baleful  sun 
That  faintly  twinkles  there. 

The  north  polar  star,  to  which  the  axis  of  the  earth,  in 
its  present  state  of  obliquity,  points.  It  is  exceedingly  pro- 
bable, from  many  considerations,  that  this  obliquity  will 
gradually  diminish,  until  the  equator  coincides  with  the 
ecliptic  ;  the  nights  and  days  will  then  become  equal  on 
the  earth  throughout  the  year,  and  probably  the  seasons 
also.  There  is  no  great  extravagance  in  presuming  that 
the  progress  of  the  perpendicularity  of  the  poles  may  be 
as  ra.pid  as  the  progress  of  intellect ;  or  that  there  should  be 
a  perfect  identity  between  the  moral  and  physical  improve- 
ment of  the  human  species.  It  is  certain  that  wisdom  is 
not  compatible  with  disease,  and  that,  in  the  present  state 
of  the  climates  of  the  earth,  health,  in  the  true  and  com- 
prehensive sense  of  the  word,  is  out  of  the  reach  of  civil- 
ized man.  Astronomy  teaches  us  that  the  earth  is  now  in 
its  progress,  and  that  the  poles  are  every  year  becoming 
more  and  more  perpendicular  to  the  ecliptic.  The  strong 
evidence  afforded  by  the  history  of  mythology,  and  geolo- 
gical researches,  that  some  event  of  this  nature  has  taken 
place  already,  affords  a  strong  presumption  that  this  pro- 
gress is  not  merely  an  oscillation,  as  has  been  surmised  by 
some  late  astronomers.*  Bones  of  animals,  peculiar  to  the 
torrid  zone  have  been  found  in  the  north  of  Siberia,  and  on 
the  banks  of  the  river  Ohio.  Plants  have  been  found  in  the 
fossil  state  in  the  interior  of  Germany,  which  demand  the 
present  climate  of  Hindostan  for  their  production.f  The 
researches  of  M.  BaillyJ  establish  the  existence  of  a  people 
who  inhabited  a  tract  of  land  in  Tartary,  49  degrees  north 
latitude,  of  greater  antiquity  than  either  the  Indians,  the 
Chinese,  or  the  Chaldeans,  from  whom  these  nations  de- 
rived their  sciences  and  theology.    We  find,  from  the  teg- 

*  Laplace,  Systeme  du  Monde. 

f  Cabanis,  Rapports  du  Physique  etdu  Moral  del'Homme,  vol.  ii.p.406. 

j  Lettres  sur  les  Sciences,  ci  Voltaire.  Bailly. 


NOTES.  81 

timony  of  ancient  writers,  that  Britain,  Germany,  and 
France,  were  much  colder  than  at  present,  and  that  their 
great  rivers  were  annually  frozen  over.  Astronomy  teaches 
us  also,  that  since  this  period  the  obliquity  of  the  earth's 
position  has  been  considerably  diminished. 

VI.  Page  45. 

No  atom  of  this  turbulence  fulfils 
A  vague  and  unnecessitated  task, 
Or  acts  but  as  it  must  and  ought  to  act. 

Two  instances  will  serve  to  render  more  sensible  to  us  the 
principle  here  laid  down ;  we  will  borrow  one  from  natural 
the  other  from  moral  philosophy.  In  a  whirlwind  of  dust 
raised  by  an  impetuous  wind,  however  confused  it  may  ap- 
pear to  our  eyes  :  in  the  most  dreadful  tempest  excited  by 
opposing  winds,  which  convulse  the  waves,  there  is  not  a 
single  particle  of  dust  or  of  water  that  is  placed  by  chance, 
that  has  not  its  sufficient  cause  for  occupying  the  situation 
in  which  it  is,  and  which  does  not  rigorously  act  in  the 
mode  it  should  act.  A  geometrician  who  knew  equally  the 
different  powers  which  operate  in  both  cases,  and  the  pro- 
perties of  the  particles  which  are  propelled,  would  shew 
that  according  to  the  given  causes,  each  particle  acts  pre- 
cisely as  it  should  act,  and  cannot  act  otherwise  than  it  does. 

In  those  terrible  convulsions  which  sometimes  agitate 
political  societies,  and  which  frequently  bring  on  the  over- 
throw of  an  empire,  there  is  not  a  single  action,  a  single 
word,  a  single  thought,  a  single  volition,  a  single  passion  in 
the  agents,  which  concur  in  the  revolution  as  destroyers, 
or  as  victims,  which  is  not  necessary,  which  does  not  act  as 
it  should  act,  which  does  not  infallibly  produce  the  effects 
which  it  should  produce,  according  to  the  place  occupied  by 
these  agents  in  the  moral  whirlwind. 

This  would  appear  evident  to  an  intelligence  which 
would  be  in  a  state  to  seize  and  appreciate  all  the  actions 
and  re-actions  of  the  minds  and  bodies  of  those  who  con- 
tribute to  this  revolution.  System  of  Nature,  vol.  i. 


82  NOTES. 

VI.  Page  46. 

Necessity !  thou  mother  of  the  world. 

He  who  asserts  the  doctrine  of  Necessity,  means  that, 
contemplating  the  events  which  compose  the  moral  and 
material  universe,  he  beholds  only  an  immense  and  unin- 
terrupted chain  of  causes  and  effects,  no  one  of  which  could 
occupy  any  other  place  than  it  does  occupy,  or  act  in  any 
other  place  than  it  does  act.  The  idea  of  necessity  is  ob- 
tained by  our  experience  of  the  connexion  between  objects, 
the  uniformity  of  the  operations  of  nature,  the  constant 
conjunction  of  similar  events,  and  the  consequent  inference 
of  one  from  the  other.  Mankind  are  therefore  agreed  in 
the  admission  of  necessity,  if  they  admit  that  these  two 
circumstances  take  place  in  voluntary  action.  Motive  is, 
to  voluntary  action  in  the  human  mind,  what  cause  is  to 
effect  in  the  material  universe.  The  word  liberty,  as  ap- 
plied to  mind,  is  analogous  to  the  word  chance,  as  applied 
to  matter ;  they  spring  from  an  ignorance  of  the  certainty 
of  the  conjunction  of  antecedents  and  consequents. 

Every  human  being  is  irresistibly  impelled  to  act  precise- 
ly as  he  does  act :  in  the  eternity  which  preceded  his  birth, 
a  chain  of  causes  was  generated,  which,  operating  under 
the  name  of  motives,  make  it  impossible  that  any  thought  of 
his  mind,  or  any  action  of  his  life,  should  be  otherwise  than 
it  is.  Were  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  false,  the  human  mind 
would  no  longer  be  a  legitimate  object  of  science ;  from  like 
causes  it  would  be  in  vain  that  we  should  expect  like  effects  : 
the  strongest  motive  would  no  longer  be  paramount  over  the 
conduct ;  all  knowledge  would  be  vague  and  undeterminate: 
we  could  not  predict  with  any  certainty  that  we  might  not 
meet  as  an  enemy  to-morrow,  him  with  whom  we  have 
parted  in  friendship  to-night ;  the  most  probable  induce- 
ments and  the  clearest  reasonings  would  lose  the  invariable 
influence  they  possess.  The  contrary  of  this  is  demonstra- 
bly the  fact.  Similar  circumstances  produce  the  same  un- 
variable  effects.  The  precise  character  and  motives  of  any 
man  on  any  occasion  being  given,  the  moral  philosopher 
could  predict  his  actions  with  as  much  certainty  as  the  na- 
tural philosopher  could  predict  the  effects  of  the  mixture  of 
any  particular  chemical  substances.  Why  is  the  aged  hus- 
bandman more  experienced  than  the  young  beginner  ?  Be- 
cause there  is  a  uniform,  undeniable  necessity  in  the  opera- 
tion of  the  material  universe.    Why  is  the  old  statesman 


NOTES.  83 

more  skilful  than  the  raw  politician  ?  Because,  relying 
on  the  necessary  conjunction  of  motive  and  action,  he 
proceeds  to  produce  moral  effects  by  the  application  of  those 
moral  causes  which  experience  has  shewn  to  be  effectual. 
Some  actions  may  be  found  to  which  we  can  attach  no  mo- 
tives, but  these  are  the  effects  of  causes  with  which  we  are 
unacquainted.  Hence  the  relation  which  motive  bears  to 
voluntary  action  is  that  of  cause  to  effect ;  nor,  placed  in 
this  point  of  view,  is  it,  or  ever  has  it  been  the  subject  of 
popular  or  philosophical  dispute.  None  but  the  few  fana- 
tics who  are  engaged  in  the  Herculean  task  of  reconciling 
the  justice  of  their  God  with  the  misery  of  man,  will  longer 
outrage  common  sense  by  the  supposition  of  an  event  with- 
out a  cause,  a  voluntary  action  without  a  motive.  History, 
politics,  morals,  criticism,  all  grounds  of  reasoning,  all  prin- 
ciples of  science,  alike  assume  the  truth  of  the  doctrine  of 
Necessity.  No  farmer  carrying  his  corn  to  market  doubts 
the  sale  of  it  at  the  market  price.  The  master  of  a  manu- 
factory no  more  doubts  that  he  can  purchase  the  human 
labour  necessary  for  his  purposes,  than  that  his  machinery 
will  act  as  they  have  been  accustomed  to  act. 
<  But,  whilst  none  have  scrupled  to  admit  necessity  as  in- 
fluencing matter,  many  have  disputed  its  dominion  over 
mind.  Independently  of  its  militating  with  the  received 
ideas  of  the  justice  of  God,  it  is  by  no  means  obvious  to  a 
superficial  enquiry.  When  the  mind  observes  its  own  ope- 
rations, it  feels  no  connexion  of  motive  and  action :  but  as 
we  know  "  nothing  more  of  causation  than  the  constant  con- 
junction of  objects,  and  the  consequent  inference  of  one 
from  the  other,  as  we  find  that  these  two  circumstances  are 
universally  allowed  to  have  place  in  voluntary  action,  we 
may  be  easily  led  to  own  that  they  are  subjected  to  the 
necessity  common  to  all  causes."  The  actions  of  the  will 
have  a  regular  conjunction  with  circumstances  and  charac- 
ters ;  motive  is,  to  voluntary  action,  what  cause  is  to  effect. 
But  the  only  idea  we  can  form  of  causation  is  a  constant 
conjunction  of  similar  objects,  and  the  consequent  infer- 
ence of  one  from  the  other : 
cessity  is  clearly  established. 

The  idea  of  liberty,  applied  metaphorically  to  the  will, 

has  sprung  from  a  misconception  of  the  meaning  of  the 

word  power.  What  is  power  ? — id  quod  potest*  that  which 

can  produce  any  given  effect.    To  deny  power,  is  to  say 

*  That  which  can  do  any  thing. 


84  NOTES. 

that  nothing  can  or  has  the  power  to  be  or  act.  In  the  only 
true  sense  of  the  word  power,  it  applies  with  equal  force  to 
the  loadstone  as  to  the  human  will.  Do  you  think  these 
motives,  which  I  shall  present,  are  powerful  enough  to 
rouse  him  ?  is  a  question  just  as  common  as,  Do  you  think 
this  lever  has  the  power  to  raise  this  weight  ?  The  advo- 
cates of  free  will  assert  that  the  will  has  the  power  of  re- 
fusing to  be  determined  by  the  strongest  motive :  but  the 
strongest  motive  is  that  which,  overcoming  all  others,  ulti- 
mately prevails  ;  this  assertion  therefore  amounts  to  a  de- 
nial of  the  will  being  ultimately  determined  by  that  motive 
which  does  determine  it,  which  is  absurd.  But  it  is  equally 
certain  that  a  man  can  not  resist  the  strongest  motive,  as 
that  he  cannot  overcome  a  physical  impossibility. 

The  doctrine  of  Necessity  tends  to  introduce  a  great 
change  into  the  established  notions  of  morality,  and  utterly 
to  destroy  religion.  Reward  and  punishment  must  be  con 
sidered,  by  the  Necessarian,  merely  as  motives  which  he 
would  employ  in  order  to  procure  the  adoption  or  abandon- 
ment of  any  given  line  of  conduct.  Desert,  in  the  present 
sense  of  the  word,  would  no  longer  have  any  meaning ;  and 
he  who  should  inflict  pain  upon  another  for  no  better  rea- 
son than  that  he  deserved  it,  would  only  gratify  his  revenge 
under  pretence  of  satisfying  justice.  It  is  not  enough,  says 
the  advocate  of  free  will,  that  a  criminal  should  be  prevent- 
ed from  a  repetition  of  his  crime  :  he  should  feel  pain ;  and 
his  torments,  when  justly  inflicted,  ought  precisely  to  be 
proportioned  to  his  fault.  But  utility  is  morality;  that 
which  is  incapable  of  producing  happiness  is  useless  ;  and 
though  the  crime  of  Damiens  must  be  condemned ;  yet 
the  frightful  torments  which  revenge,  under  the  name  of 
justice,  inflicted  on  this  unhappy  man,  cannot  be  supposed 
to  have  augmented,  even  at  the  long  run,  the  stock  of 
pleasurable  sensation  in  the  world.  At  the  same  time  the 
doctrine  of  Necessity  does  not  in  the  least  diminish  our 
disapprobation  of  vice.  The  conviction  which  all  feel,  that 
a  viper  is  a  poisonous  animal,  and  that  a  tiger  is  constrain- 
ed, by  the  inevitable  condition  of  his  existence  to  devour 
men,  does  not  induce  us  to  avoid  them  less  seduously,  or 
even  more  to  hesitate  in  destroying  them  :  but  he  would 
surely  be  of  a  hard  heart,  who,  meeting  with  a  serpent 
on  a  desert  island,  or  in  a  situation  where  it  was  incapable 
of  injury,  should  wantonly  deprive  it  of  existence.  A 
Necessarian  is  inconsequent  to  his  own  principles,  if  he  in- 


NOTES.  85 

dulges  in  hatred  or  contempt ;  the  compassion  which  he  feels 
for  the  criminal  is  unmixed  with  a  desire  of  injuring  him :  he 
looks  with  an  elevated  and  dreadless  composure  upon  the 
links  of  the  universal  chain  as  they  pass  before  his  eyes  * 
whilst  cowardice,  curiosity  and  inconsistency  only  assail 
him  in  proportion  to  the  feebleness  and  indistinctness  with 
which  he  has  perceived  and  rejected  the  delusions  of  free 
will. 

Religion  is  the  perception  of  the  relation  in  which  we 
stand  to  the  principle  of  the  universe.  But  if  the  princi- 
ple of  the  universe  be  not  an  organic  being  the  model  and 
prototype  of  man,  the  relation  between  it  and  human  beings 
is  absolutely  none.  Without  some  insight  into  its  will,  re- 
specting our  actions,  religion  is  nugatory  and  vain.  But 
will  is  only  a  mode  of  animal  mind  ;  moral  qualities  also 
are  such  as  only  a  human  being  can  possess  ;  to  attribute 
them  to  the  principle  of  the  universe,  is  to  annex  to  it 
properties  incompatible  with  any  possible  definition  of  its 
nature.  It  is  probable  that  the  word  God  was  originally 
only  an  expression  denoting  the  unknown  cause  of  the 
known  events  which  men  perceived  in  the  universe.  By 
the  vulgar  mistake  of  a  metaphor  for  a  real  being,  of  a 
word  for  a  thing,  it  became  a  man,  endowed  with  human 
qualities,  and  governing  the  universe  as  an  earthly  monarch 
governs  his  kingdom.  Their  addresses  to  this  imaginary 
being,  indeed,  are  much  in  the  same  style  as  those  of  sub- 
jects to  a  king.  They  acknowledge  his  benevolence,  de- 
precate his  anger,  and  supplicate  his  favour. 

But  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  teaches  us,  that  in  no  case 
could  any  event  happen,  otherwise  than  it  did  happen,  and 
that,  if  God  is  the  author  of  good,  he  is  also  the  author  of 
evil :  that,  if  he  is  entitled  to  our  gratitude  for  the  one,  he 
is  entitled  to  our  hatred  for  the  other  ;  that,  admitting  the 
existence  of  this  hypothetic  being,  he  is  also  subjected  to 
the  dominion  of  an  immutable  necessity.  It  is  plain  that 
the  same  arguments  which  prove  that  God  is  the  author  of 
food,  light,  and  life,  prove  him  also  to  be  the  author  of  poi- 
son, darkness,  and  death.  The  wide-wasting  earthquake, 
the  storm,  the  battle,  and  the  tyranny,  are  attributable  to 
this  hypothetic  being  in  the  same  degree  as  thejairest 
forms  of  nature,  sunshine,  liberty,  and  peace. 

But  we  are  taught,  by  the  doctrine  of  Necessity,  that 
there  is  neither  good  nor  evil  in  the  universe,  otherwise 
than  as  the  events  to  which  we  apply  these  epithets  have 
8 


§6  NOTES. 

relation  to  our  own  peculiar  mode  of  being.  Still  less 
than  the  .hypothesis  of  a  God,  will  the  doctrine  of  Neces- 
sity accord  with  the  belief  of  a  future  state  of  punishment. 
God  made  man  such  as  he  is,  and  then  damned  him  for 
being  so  ;  for  to  say  that  God  was  the  author  of  all  good, 
and  man  the  author  of  all  evil,  is  to  say  that  one  man  made 
a  straight  line  and  a  crooked  one,  and  another  man  made 
the  incongruity. 

A  Mahometan  story,  much  to  the  present  purpose,  is  re- 
corded, wherein  Adam  and  Moses  are  introduced  disputing 
before  God  in  the  following  manner.  Thou,  says  Moses, 
art  Adam,  whom  God  created,  and  animated  with  the  breath 
of  life,  and  caused  to  be  worshipped  by  the  angels  and  placed 
in  Paradise,  from  whence  mankind  have  been  expelled  for 
thy  fault.  Whereto  Adam  answered,  Thou  art  Moses  whom 
God  chose  for  his  apostle,  and  entrusted  with  his  word,  by 
giving  thee  the  tables  of  the  law,  and  whom  he  vouchsafed 
to  admit  to  discourse  with  himself.  How  many  years  dost 
thou  find  the  law  was  written  before  I  was  created  ?  Says 
Moses  forty.  And  dost  thou  not  find,  replied  Adam,  these 
words  therein,  And  Adam  rebelled  against  his  Lord  and 
transgressed?  Which  Moses  confessing,  Dost  thou  therefore 
blame  me,  continued  he,  for  doing  that  which  God  wrote  of 
me,  that  I  should  do,  forty  years  before  I  was  created,  nay, 
for  what  was  decreed  concerning  me  fifty  thousand  years 
before  the  creation  of  heaven  and  earth  ? 

Sale's  Prelim.  Disc,  to  the  Koran,  p.  164w 

VII.  Page  47. 

There  is  no  God  ! 

This  negation  must  be  understood  solely  to  affect  a  crea- 
tive Deity.  The  hypothesis  of  a  pervading  Spirit,  co-eter- 
nal with  the  universe,  remains  unshaken. 

A  close  examination  of  the  validity  of  the  proofs  adduced 
to  support  any  proposition,  is  the  only  secure  way  of  attain- 
ing truth,  on  the  advantages  of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to 
descant ;  our  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  a  Deity  is  a  sub- 
ject of  such  importance,  that  it  cannot  be  minutely  investi- 
gated ;  in  consequence  of  this  conviction,  we  proceed  briefly 
and  impartially  to  examine  the  proofs  which  have  been 
adduced.  It  is  necessary  first  to  consider  the  nature  of  belief. 

When  a  proposition  is  offered  to  the  mind,  it  perceives  the 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  the  ideas  of  which  it  is  com- 


NOTES.  97 

posed.  A  perception  of  their  agreement  is  termed  belief* 
Many  obstacles  frequently  prevent  this  perception  from  be- 
ing immediate ;  these  the  mind  attempts  to  remove,  in  order 
that  the  perception  may  be  distinct.  The  mind  is  active  in 
the  investigation,  in  order  to  perfect  the  state  of  perception 
of  the  relation  which  the  component  ideas  of  the  proposition 
bear  to  each,  which  is  passive :  the  investigation  being  con- 
fused with  the  perception,  has  induced  many  falsely  to  ima- 
gine that  the  mind  is  active  in  belief — that  belief  is  an  act  of 
volition — in  consequence  of  which  it  may  be  regulated  by 
the  mind.  Pursuing,  continuing  this  mistake,  they  have  at- 
tached a  degree  of  criminality  to  disbelief;  of  which,  in  its 
nature  it  is  incapable ;  it  is  equally  incapable  of  merit. 

Belief  then  is  a  passion,  the  strength  of  which,  like  every 
other  passion,  is  in  precise  proportion  to  the  degrees  of  ex- 
citement. 

The  degrees  of  excitement  are  three. 

The  senses  are  the  sources  of  all  knowledge  to  the  mind ; 
consequently  their  evidence  claims  the  strongest  assent. 

The  decision  of  the  mind,  founded  on  our  own  experience 
derived  from  these  sources,  claims  the  next  degree. 

The  experience  of  others,  which  addresses  itself  to  the 
former  one,  occupies  the  lowest  degree. 

(A  graduated  scale,  on  which  should  be  marked  the  capa- 
bilities of  propositions  to  approach  to  the  test  of  the  senses, 
would  be  a  just  barometer  of  the  belief  that  ought  to  be 
attached  to  them.) 

Consequently  no  testimony  can  be  admitted  which  is  con- 
trary to  reason ;  reason  is  founded  on  the  evidence  of  our 
senses. 

Every  proof  may  be  referred  to  one  of  these  three  divi- 
sions :  it  is  to  be  considered  what  arguments  we  receive 
from  each  of  them,  which  should  convince  us  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Deity. 

1st.  The  evidence  of  the  senses.  If  the  Deity  should 
appear  to  us,  if  he  should  convince  our  senses  of  his  exist- 
tence,  this  revelation  would  necessarily  command  belief. 
Those  to  whom  the  Deity  has  thus  appeared  have  the  strong- 
est possible  conviction  of  his  existence.  But  the  God  of 
Theologians  is  incapable  of  local  visibility. 

2d.  Reason.  It  is  urged  that  man  knows  that  whatever 
is,  must  either  have  had  a  beginning,  or  have  existed  from 
all  eternity :  he  also  knows,  that  whatever  is  not  eternal 
.  must  have  had  a  cause.    When  this  reasoning  is  applied  to 


88  NOTES. 

the  universe,  it  is  necessary  to  prove  that  it  was  created:  un- 
til that  is  clearly  demonstrated,  we  may  reasonably  suppose 
that  it  has  endured  from  all  eternity.  We  must  prove  design 
before  we  can  infer  a  designer.  The  only  idea  which  we 
can  form  of  causation  is  derivable  from  the  constant  con- 
junction of  obj  ects,  and  the  consequent  inference  of  one  from 
the  other.  In  a  case  where  two  propositions  are  diametri- 
cally opposite,  the  mind  believes  that  which  is  least  incom- 
prehensible ; — it  is  easier  to  suppose  that  the  universe  has 
existed  from  all  eternity,  than  to  conceive  a  being  beyond 
its  limits  capable  of  creating  it ;  if  the  mind  sinks  beneath 
the  weight  of  one,  is  it  an  alleviation  to  increase  the  intole- 
rability  of  the  burthen  ? 

The  other  argument,  which  is  founded  on  a  man's  know- 
ledge of  his  own  existence,  stands  thus.  A  man  knows  not 
only  that  he  now  is,  but  that  once  he  was  not ;  consequently 
there  must  have  been  a  cause.  But  our  idea  of  causation  is 
alone  derivable  from  the  constant  conjunction  of  objects  and 
the  consequent  inference  of  one  from  the  other  ;  and,  rea- 
soning experimentally,we  can  only  infer  from  effects,  causes 
exactly  adequate  to  those  effects.  But  there  certainly  is  a 
generative  power  which  is  effected  by  certain  instruments ; 
we  cannot  prove  that  it  is  inherent  in  these  instruments  ; 
nor  is  the  contrary  hypothesis  capable  of  demonstration ; 
we  admit  that  the  generative  power  is  incomprehensible  ; 
but  to  suppose  that  the  same  effect  is  produced  by  an  eter- 
nal, omniscient,  omnipotent  being,  leaves  the  cause  in  the 
same  obscurity,  but  renders  it  more  incomprehensible. 

3d.  Testimony.  It  is  required  that  testimony  should  not 
be  contrary  to  reason.  The  testimony  that  the  Deity  con- 
vinces the  senses  of  men  of  his  existence,  can  only  be  ad- 
mitted by  us,  if  our  mind  considers  it  less  probable  that 
these  men  should  have  been  deceived,  than  that  the  Deity 
should  have  appeared  to  them.  Our  reason  can  never  ad- 
mit the  testimony  of  men,  who  not  only  declare  that  they 
were  eye-witnesses  of  miracles,  but  that  the  Deity  was  ir- 
rational :  for  he  commanded  that  he  should  be  believed,  he 
proposed  the  highest  rewards  for  faith,  eternal  punishments 
for  disbelief.  We  can  only  command  voluntary  actions ; 
belief  is  not  an  act  of  volition;  the  mind  is  even  passive,  or 
involuntarily  active ;  from  this  it  is  evident  that  we  have 
no  sufficient  testimony,  or  rather  that  testimony  is  insuffi- 
cient to  prove  the  being  of  a  God.  It  has  been  before  shown 
that  it  cannot  be  deduced  from  reason.    They  alone  then, 


NOTES.  89 

who  have  been  convinced  by  the  evidence  of  the  senses, 
can  believe  it. 

Hence  it  is  evident  that,  having  no  proofs  from  either  of 
the  three  sources  of  conviction,  the  mind  cannot  believe  the 
existence  of  a  creative  God ;  it  is  also  evident,  that,  as  belief 
is  a  passion  of  the  mind,  no  degree  of  criminality  is  attacha- 
ble to  disbelief;  and  that  they  only  are  reprehensible  who 
neglect  to  remove  the  false  medium  through  which  their 
mind  views  any  subject  of  discussion.  Every  reflecting 
mind  must  acknowledge  that  there  is  no  proof  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Deity. 

God  is  an  hypothesis,  and  as  such,  stands  in  need  of  proof ; 
the  onus  probandi*  rests  on  the  theist.  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
says :  Hypothesis  non  jingo,  quicquid  enim  ex  phceno- 
menis  non  deducitur,  hypothesis  vocanda  est,  et  hypothe- 
sis vel  metaphysics,  vel  physics,  vel  qualitatum  occulta- 
rum,  seu  mechanics,  in  philosophia  locum  non  habent.\ 
To  all  proofs  of  the  existence  of  a  creative  God  apply  this 
valuable  rule.  We  see  a  variety  of  bodies  possessing  a  va- 
riety of  powers :  we  merely  know  their  effects ;  we  are  in 
a  state  of  ignorance  with  respect  to  their  essences  and  cau- 
ses. These  Newton  calls  the  phenomena  of  things ;  but 
the  pride  of  philosophy  is  unwilling  to  admit  its  ignorance 
of  their  causes.  From  the  phenomena  which  are  the  ob- 
jects of  our  senses,  we  attempt  to  infer  a  cause,  which  we 
call  God,  and  gratuitously  endow  it  with  all  negative  and 
contradictory  qualities.  From  this  hypothesis  we  invent 
this  general  name  to  conceal  our  ignorance  of  causes  and 
essences.  The  being  called  God  by  no  means  answers  with 
the  conditions  prescribed  by  Newton  ;  it  bears  every  mark 
of  a  veil  woven  by  philosophical  conceit,  to  hide  the  igno- 
rance of  philosophers  even  from  themselves.  They  borrow 
the  threads  of  its  texture  from  the  anthropomorphism  of 
the  vulgar.  Words  have  beed  used  by  sophists  for  the  same 
purposes,  from  the  occult  qualities  of  the  peripatetics  to  the 
effluvium  of  Boyle,  and  the  crinities  or  nebula,  of  Herschel. 
God  is  represented  as  infinite,  eternal,  incomprehensible  ; 
he  is  contained  under  every  predicate  in  non  that  the  lo- 
gic of  ignorance  could  fabricate.     Even  his  worshippers 

*  The  burthen  of  proof. 

1 1  do  not  invent  hypotheses  ;  for  whatever  is  not  deduced  from  pheno- 
mena is  to  be  called  an  hypothesis  ;  and  hypothesis,  either  metaphysical 
or  physical,  or  grounded  on  occult  qualities,  should  not  be  allowed  any 
room  in  philosophy. 


90  NOTES. 

allow  that  it  is  impossible  to  form  any  idea  of  him:  they 
exclaim  with  the  French  poet, 

Pour  dire  ce  quHl  est,  ilfaut  etre  lui-meme.* 
Lord  Bacon  says,  that  "  Atheism  leaves  a  man  to  sense, 
to  philosophy,  to  natural  piety,  to  laws,  to  reputation  :  all 
which  may  be  guides  to  an  outward  moral  virtue,  though 
religion  were  not ;  but  superstition  dismounts  all  these,  and 
erecteth  an  absolute  monarchy  in  the  minds  of  men ;  there- 
fore Atheism  did  never  perturb  states:  for  it  makes  men 
wary  of  themselves,  as  looking  no  farther,  and  Ave  see  th& 
times  inclined  to  Atheism  (as  the  time  of  Augustus  Caesar) 
were  civil  times  ;  but  Superstition  hath  been  the  confusion 
of  many  states,  andbringeth  in  a  new  pri?num  mobile,  that 
ravisheth  all  the  spheres  of  Government." 

Bacon's  Moral  Essay  on  Superstition. 

The  primary  theology  of  man  made  him  first  fear  and 
worship  even  the  elements,  gross  and  material  objects,  he 
then  paid  his  adorations  to  the  presiding  agents  of  the  ele- 
ments, to  inferior  genii,  to  heroes,  or  to  men  endowed  with 
great  qualities.  By  continuing  to  reflect  he  thought  to  sim- 
plify things,  by  submitting  all  nature  to  a  single  agent,  to  a 
spirit,  to  a  universal  soul,  which  put  this  nature,  and  its 
parts  into  motion.  In  ascending  from  cause  to  cause,  man- 
kind have  ended,  by  seeing  nothing,  and  it  is  in  the  midst 
of  this  obscurity,  that  they  have  placed  their  God  :  it  is  in 
this  dark  abyss,  that  their  restless  imagination  is  always 
labouring  to  form  chimeras,  which  will  afflict  them,  until  a 
knowledge  of  nature  shall  dissipate  the  phantoms  which 
they  have  always  so  vainly  adored. 

If  we  wish  to  render  an  account  to  ourselves,  of  our  ideas 
respecting  the  Deity,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  confess  that  by 
the  word  of  God,  men  have  never  been  able  to  designate  any 
thing  else  but  the  most  hidden,  the  most  remote,  the  most 
unknown  cause  of  the  effects  which  they  perceive ;  they  only 
make  use  of  this  word,  when  the  springs  of  natural  and 
known  causes  cease  to  be  visible  to  them :  the  instant  they 
lose  the  thread,  or  their  understanding  can  no  longer  follow 
the  chain  of  these  causes,  they  cut  the  knot  of  their  difficulty 
and  terminate  their  researches  by  calling  God  the  last  of 
these  causes,  that  is  to  say,  that  which  is  beyond  all  causes 
with  which  they  are  acquainted.  Thus  they  merely  assign 
a  vague  denomination  to  an  unknown  cause,  at  which  their 

*  To  tell  what  he  is,  you  must  be  himself. 


NOTES.  91 

indolence  or  the  limits  of  their  information  compels  them  to 
stop.  Whenever  we  are  told,  that  God  is  the  author  of  any 
phenomenon,  that  signifies  that  we  are  ignorant  how  such  a 
phenomenon  can  be  produced,  with  the  assistance  only  of 
the  natural  powers  or  causes  with  which  we  are  acquainted. 
It  is  thus  that  the  generality  of  mankind,  whose  lot  is  igno- 
rance, attribute  to  the  Deity,  not  only  the  uncommon  effects 
which  strike  them,  but  even  the  most  simple  events,  whose 
causes  are  the  most  easily  discoverable,  to  all  who  have  had 
the  opportunity  of  reflecting  on  them.  In  a  word,  man  has 
always  respected  the  unknown  causes  of  those  surprising 
effects, which  his  ignorance  prevented  him  from  unravelling. 
It  was  upon  the  ruins  of  nature  that  men  first  raised  the 
imaginary  colossus  of  a  Deity. 

If  the  ignorance  of  nature  gave  birth  to  gods,  a  know- 
ledge of  nature  is  calculated  to  destroy  them. 

In  proportion  as  man  becomes  informed,  his  powers  and 
resources  increase  with  his  knowledge,  the  sciences,  the 
conservative  arts,  and  industry  furnish  him  with  assistance, 
experience  inspires  him  with  confidence,  or  procures  him 
the  means  of  resisting  the  efforts  of  many  causes,  which 
cease  to  alarm  him,  as  soon  as  he  becomes  acquainted  with 
them.  In  a  word,  his  terrors  are  dissipated  in  the  same 
proportion  .as  his  mind  is  enlightened.  A  well  informed 
man  ceases  to  be  superstitious. 

It  is  never  but  on  trust,  that  whole  nations  worship  the 
God  of  their  fathers  and  their  priests ;  authority,  confidence, 
submission,  and  custom,  to  them  supply  the  place  of  proofs 
and  conviction ;  they  prostrate  themselves  and  pray,  because 
their  fathers  have  taught  them  to  prostrate  themselves  and 
pray,  but  wherefore  did  the  latter  kneel?  Because  in  remote 
periods,  their  guides  and  regulators  taught  them  it  was  a 
duty.  "Worship  and  believe,"  said  they,  "gods  which 
you  cannot  comprehend,  rely  on  our  profound  wisdom,  we 
know  more  than  you  concerning  the  Deity.'1  "  But  why 
should  I  rely  on  you  ?"  "  Because  it  is  the  will  of  God,  be- 
cause he  will  punish  you  if  you  dare  to  resist."  "  But  is  not 
this  God  the  thing  in  question?"  Thus  men  have  always 
been  satisfied  with  this  vicious  circle,  the  indolence  of  their 
minds  led  them  to  believe  the  shorter  mode  was  to  rely  up- 
on the  opinions  of  others.  All  religious  notions  are  founded 
upon  authority  alone,  all  the  religions  of  the  world  forbid 
investigation,  and  will  not  permit  reasoning:  it  is  authority 
which  requires  us  to  believe  in  God,  this  God  himself  is  only 
founded  upon  the  authority  of  some  men  who  pretend  to 


92  NOTES. 

know  him,  and  to  be  sent  by  him  to  announce  him  to  the 
world.  A  God  made  by  men  has  doubtless  need  of  men  to 
make  him  known  to  men. 

Is  it  then  only,  for  the  priests  of  the  inspired,  for  meta- 
physicians, that  a  conviction  of  the  existence  of  a  God  is 
reserved,  and  which  is  nevertheless  said  to  be  necessary  to 
all  mankind.  But  do  we  find  a  harmony  of  theological 
opinion  among  the  inspired,  or  the  reflective,  in  the  different 
parts  of  the  world  ?  Are  those  even  who  profess  to  worship 
the  same  God  agreed  respecting  him  ?  Are  they  satisfied 
with  the  proofs  of  his  existence  which  their  colleagues  bring 
forward  ?  Do  they  unanimously  subscribe  to  the  ideas  which 
they  adduce  respecting  his  nature,  his  conduct,  and  the 
mode  of  understanding  his  pretended  oracles  ?  Is  there  a 
country  throughout  the  earth,  in  which  the  knowledge  is 
really  perfected.  Has  it  assumed  in  any  quarter  the  con- 
sistency, and  uniformity,  which  we  perceive  human  know- 
ledge to  have  assumed,  in  the  most  trifling  arts,  in  trades 
the  most  despised.  The  words  spirit,  immateriality,  cre- 
ation,  predestination,  grace,  this  crowd  of  subtile  distinc- 
tions with  which  theology,  in  some  countries,  is  universally 
filled,  these  ingenious  inventions,  imagined  by  the  succes- 
sive reasoners  of  ages,  have,  alas  !  only  embroiled  the  ques- 
tion, and  never  has  the  science,  the  most  important  to  man- 
kind, been  able  to  acquire  the  least  stability.  For  thou- 
sands of  years,  have  these  idle  dreamers  transmitted  to  each 
other  the  task  of  meditating  on  the  Deity,  of  discovering 
his  secret  paths,  of  inventing  hypotheses  calculated  to  solve 
this  important  enigma.  The  little  success  they  have  met 
with,  has  not  discouraged  theological  vanity.  God  has  al- 
ways been  talked  of,  mankind  have  cut  each  other's  throats 
for  him,  and  this  great  being  still  continues  to  be  the  most 
unknown,  and  the  most  sought  after. 

Fortunate  would  it  have  been  for  mankind  if  confining 
themselves  to  the  visible  objects  imwhich  they  are  interest- 
ed, they  had  employed  in  perfecting  true  science,  laws,  mo- 
rals, and  education,  half  the  exertions  they  have  made  in 
their  researches  after  a  Deity.  They  would  have  been  still 
wiser  and  more  fortunate,  could  they  have  resolved  to  leave 
their  blind  guides  to  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  to  sound 
the  depths  calculated  only  to  turn  their  brains  without  med- 
dling with  their  senseless  disputes.  But  it  is  the  very  es- 
sence of  ignorance  to  attach  importance  to  what  it  does  not 
understand.    Human  vanity  is  such  that  the  mind  becomes 


NOTES.  93 

irritated  by  difficulty.  In  proportion  as  an  object  fades  from 
our  sight  do  we  exert  ourselves  to  seize  it,  because  it  then 
stimulates  our  pride,  it  excites  our  curiosity,  and  becomes 
interesting.  In  contending  for  his  God,  every  one  in  fact 
is  only  contending  for  the  interests  of  his  own  vanity,  which 
of  all  the  passions,  produced  by  the  mal-organization  of 
society,  is  the  most  prompt  to  take  alarm,  and  the  most 
calculated  to  give  birth  to  great  absurdities. 

If  laying  aside  for  a  moment  the  gloomy  ideas  which  the- 
ology gives  us  of  a  capricious  God,  whose  partial  and  des- 
potic decrees  decide  the  fates  of  men,  we  fix  our  eyes  upon 
the  pretended  goodness  which  all  men,even  whilst  trembling 
before  this  God,  agree  in  giving  to  him,  if  we  suppose  him 
to  be  actuated  by  the  project  which  is  attributed  to  him,  of 
having  only  laboured  for  his  own  glory,  of  exacting  the  ado- 
ration of  intelligent  beings,  of  seeking  only  in  his  works,  the 
welfare  of  the  human  race  ;  how  can  we  reconcile  his  views 
and  dispositions  with  the  truly  invincible  ignorance  in  which 
this  God,  so  good  and  glorious,  leaves  the  greater  part  of 
mankind  respecting  himself?  If  God  wishes  to  be  known, 
beloved,  and  praised,  why  does  he  not  reveal  himself  under 
some  favourable  features,  to  all  intelligent  beings  by  whom 
he  wishes  to  be  loved  and  worshipped  ?  Why  does  he  not 
manifest  to  all  the  earth  in  an  unequivocal  manner,  much 
more  calculated  to  convince  us,  than  by  these  particular  re- 
velations which  seem  to  accuse  the  Deity  of  an  unjust  par- 
tiality for  some  of  his  creatures  ?  Would  not  the  omnipo- 
tent possess  more  convincing  means  of  revealing  himself 
to  mankind  than  these  ridiculous  metamorphoses,  these  pre- 
tended incarnations,  which  are  attested  to  us  by  writers  who 
so  little  agree  among  themselves  in  the  recitals  they  give  of 
them  ?  Instead  of  so  many  miracles  invented  to  prove  the 
divine  mission,  of  so  many  legislators  revered  by  the  differ- 
ent nations  of  the  world,  could  not  the  supreme  being  con- 
vince in  an  instant  the  human  mind  of  the  things  which  he 
chose  to  make  known  to  it  %  Instead  of  suspending  the  sun 
in  the  vault  of  the  firmament,  instead  of  dispersing  the  stars 
and  the  constellations,  which  occupy  space  without  order, 
would  it  not  have  been  more  conformable  to  the  views  of  a 
God  so  jealous  of  his  glory,  and  so  well  disposed  to  man,  to 
write  in  a  mode  not  liable  to  be  disputed,  his  name,  his  at- 
tributes, and  his  unchangeable  will  in  everlasting  charac- 
ters, equally  legible  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  1  No 
one  could  then  have  doubted  the  existence  of  a  God,  his 


94  NOTES. 

manifest  will,  his  invisible  intentions.  Under  the  eye  of  this 
terrible  Deity,  no  one  would  have  had  the  audacity  to  violate 
his  ordinances,  no  mortal  would  have  dared  to  place  him- 
self in  the  situation  of  drawing  down  his  wrath  ;  and  lastly, 
no  man  would  have  had  the  effrontery  to  impose  on  his  fel- 
low creatures,  in  the  name  of  the  Deity,  or  to  interpret  his 
will  according  to  his  own  fancy. 

In  fact,  even  should  the  existence  of  the  theological  God 
be  admitted,  and  the  reality  of  the  discordant  attributes 
which  are  given  to  him,  nothing  could  be  inferred  from  it, 
to  authorise  the  conduct  or  the  modes  of  worship,  which  we 
are  told  to  observe  towards  him.  Theology  is  truly  the  tub 
of  the  Danaides.  By  dint  of  contradictory  qualities  and 
rash  assertions,  it  has  so  trammelled,  as  it  were,  its  God,  that 
it  has  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  act.  If  he  is  infinitely 
good,  what  reason  have  we  to  fear  him  ?  If  he  is  infinitely 
wise,  why  should  we  be  uneasy  for  our  future  state?  If  he 
knows  all,  why  inform  him  of  our  wants,  and  tease  him 
with  our  prayers  1  If  he  is  omnipresent,  why  raise  temples 
to  him  ?  If  he  is  master  of  all,  Why  sacrifice  and  make  offer- 
ings to  him  ?  If  he  is  just,  how  can  we  believe  that  he  pu- 
nishes creatures  whom  he  has  afflicted  with  weakness  ?  If 
grace  does  all  in  them,  for  what  reason  should  he  reward 
them  ?  If  he  is  omnipotent,  how  can  we  offend,  how  resist 
him  ?  If  he  is  reasonable,  how  could  he  be  incensed  against 
his  blind  creatures  to  whom  he  has  only  left  the  liberty  of 
falling  into  error  1  If  he  is  immutable,  by  what  right  do 
we  pretend  to  make  him  change  his  decrees  ?  If  he  is  in- 
comprehensible, why  do  we  busy  ourselves  in  endeavouring 
to  understand  him  7  IF  HE  HAS  SPOKEN,  WHY  IS 
NOT  THE  UNIVERSE  CONVINCED  ?  If  the  knowledge 
of  a  God  is  the  most  necessary,  why  is  it  not  the  clearest 
and  most  evident  ? — System  of  Nature,  London,  1781. 

The  enlightened  and  benevolent  Pliny  thus  publicly  pro- 
fesses himself  an  atheist : — 

For  which  reason,  I  consider  that  the  enquiry  after  the 
form  and  figure  of  the  Deity,  must  be  attributed  to  human 
weakness.  Whatever  God  may  be  (if  indeed  there  be  one] 
and  wherever  he  may  exist,  he  must  be  all  sense,  all  sight, 
all  hearing,  all  life,  all  mind,  self-existent.  *  *  *  *  But 
it  is  a  great  consolation  to  man,  with  all  his  infirmities,  to 
reflect  that  God  himself  cannot  do  all  things :  for  he  cannot 
inflict  on  himself  death,  even  if  he  should  wish  to  die,  that 
best  of  gifts  to  man  amidst  the  cares  and  sufferings  of  life ; 


NOTES.  95 

neither  can  he  make  men  eternal,  nor  raise  the  dead,  nor 
prevent  those  who  have  lived,  from  living,  nor  those  who 
have  borne  honours  from  wearing  them ;  he  has  no  power 
over  the  past,  except  that  of  oblivion,  and  (to  relax  our  gra- 
vity awhile,  and  indulge  in  a  joke,)  he  cannot  prevent  twice 
ten  from  being  twenty,  and  many  other  things  of  a  similar 
nature.  From  these  observations  it  is  clearly  apparent  that 
the  powers  of  nature  are  what  we  call  God. 

Plin.  Nat.  Hist. 

The  consistent  Newtonian  is  necessarily  an  atheist.  See 
Sir  W.  Drummond's  Academical  Questions,  chapter  iii. 
Sir  W.  seems  to  consider  the  atheism  to  which  it  leads,  as  a 
sufficient  presumption  of  the  falsehood  of  the  system  of 
gravitation ;  but  surely  it  is  more  consistent  with  the  good 
faith  of  philosophy  to  admit  a  deduction  from  facts,  than  a 
hypothesis  incapable  of  proof,  although  it  might  militate 
with  the  obstinate  preconceptions  of  the  mob.  Had  this 
author,  instead  of  inveighing  against  the  guilt  and  absurdi 
ty  of  atheism,  demonstrated  its  falsehood,  his  conduct 
would  have  been  more  suited  to  the  modesty  of  the  sceptic, 
and  the  toleration  of  the  philosopher. 

All  things  are  made  by  the  power  of  God,  yet,  doubtless, 
because  the  power  of  nature  is  the  power  of  God :  besides 
we  are  unable  to  understand  the  power  of  God,  so  far  as  we 
are  ignorant  of  natural  causes :  therefore  we  foolishly  re- 
cur to  the  power  of  God  whenever  we  are  unacquainted' 
with  the  natural  cause  of  any  thing,  or  in  other  words,  with 
the  power  of  God. 

Spinoza^  Tract.  Theologico,  Pol  chap.  i.  p.  14. 

VII.  Page  48. 

Ahasuerus,  rise  ! 

Ahasuerus  the  Jew  crept  forth  from  the  dark  cave  of 
Mount  Carmel.  Near  two  thousand  years  have  elapsed 
since  he  was  first  goaded  by  never-ending  restlessness,  to 
rove  the  globe  from  pole  to  pole.  When  our  Lord  was  wea- 
ried with  the  burthen  of  his  ponderous  cross,  and  wanted  to 
rest  before  the  door  of  Ahasuerus,  the  unfeeling  wretch 
drove  him  away  with  brutality.  The  Saviour  of  mankind, 
staggered,  sinking  under  the  heavy  load,  but  uttered  no 
complaint.  An  angel  of  death  appeared  before  Ahasuerus, 
and  exclaimed  indignantly,  "  Barbarian !  thou  hast  denied 


96  NOTES. 

rest  to  the  Son  of  Man ;  be  it  denied  thee  also,  until  he  conies 
to  judge  the  world." 

A  black  demon,  let  loose  from  hell  upon  Ahasuerus,  goads 
him  now  from  country  to  country ;  he  is  denied  the  conso- 
lation which  death  affords,  and  precluded  from  the  rest  of 
the  peaceful  grave. 

Ahasuerus  crept  forth  from  the  dark  cave  of  Mount  Car- 
mel — he  shook  the  dust  from  his  beard — and  taking  up  one 
of  the  sculls  heaped  there,  hurled  it  down  the  eminence: 
it  rebounded  from  the  earth  in  shivered  atoms.  This  was 
my  father  !  roared  Ahasuerus.  Seven  more  sculls  rolled 
down  from  rock  to  rock  ;  while  the  infuriate  Jew,  following 
them  with  ghastly  looks,  exclaimed— And  these  were  my 
wives  !  He  still  continued  to  hurl  down  scull  after  scull,  roar- 
ing in  dreadful  accents — And  these,  and  these,  and  these 
were  my  children  !  They  could  die ;  but,  I !  reprobate 
wretch,  alas  !  I  cannot  die  !  Dreadful  beyond  conception 
is  the  judgment  that  hangs  over  me.  Jerusalem  fell — I 
crushed  the  sucking  babe,  and  precipitated  myself  into  the 
destructive  flames.  I  cursed  the  Romans — but,  alas !  alas  ! 
;     the  restless  curse  held  me  by  the  hair,  and  I  could  not  die ! 

Rome  the  giantess  fell — I  placed  myself  before  the  falling 
statue — she  fell  and  did  not  crush  me.  Nations  sprung  up 
and  disappeared  before  me ;  but  I  remained  and  did  not  die. 
From  cloud-encircled  cliffs  did  I  precipitate  myself  into  the 
ocean ;  but  the  foaming  billows  cast  me  upon  the  shore,  and 
the  burning  arrow  of  existence  pierced  my  cold  heart  again. 
Heaped  into  Etna's  flaming  abyss,  and  roared  with  the 
giants  for  ten  long  months,  polluting  with  my  groans  the 
Mount's  sulphureous  mouth — ah  !  ten  long  months.  The 
volcano  fermented,  and  in  a  fiery  stream  of  lava  cast  me  up. 
I  lay  torn  by  the  torture-snakes  of  hell  amid  the  glowing 
cinders,  and  yet  continued  to  exist.  A  forest  was  on  fire  :  I 
darted  on  wings  of  fury  and  despair  into  the  crackling  wood. 
Fire  dropped  upon  me  from  the  trees,  but  the  flames  only 
singed  my  limbs ;  alas ;  it  could  not  consume  them.  I  now 
mixed  with  the  butchers  of  mankind,  and  plunged  in  the 
tempest  of  the  raging  battle.  I  roared  defiance  to  the  infu- 
"  riate  Gaul,  defiance  to  the  victorious  German ;  but  arrows 
and  spears  rebounded  in  shivers  from  my  body.  The  Sara* 
cen's  flaming  sword  broke  upon  my  scull ;  balls  in  vain  hiss- 
ed upon  me :  the  lightnings  of  battle  glared  harmless  around 
my  loins ;  in  vain  did  the  elephant  trample  on  me,  in  vain 
the  iron  hoof  of  the  wrathful  steed !    The  mine,  big  with 


NOTES.  97 

destructive  power,  burst  upon  me,  and  hurled  me  high  in 
the  air — I  fell  on  heaps  of  smoking  limbs,  but  was  only- 
singed.  The  giant's  steel  club  rebounded  from  my  body; 
the  executioner's  hand  could  not  strangle  me ;  the  tiger's 
tooth  could  not  pierce  me,  nor  would  the  hungry  lion  in  the 
circus  devour  me.  I  cohabited  with  poisonous  snakes,  and 
pinched  the  red  crest  of  the  dragon.  The  serpent  stung, 
but  could  not  destroy  me  ;  the  dragon  tormented,  but  dared 
not  to  devour  me.  I  now  provoked  the  fury  of  tyrants ;  I 
said  to  Nero,  Thou  art  a  bloodhound  !  I  said  to  Christiern, 
Thou  art  a  blood-hound  !  I  said  to  Muley  Ismail,  Thou  art 
a  bloodhound  !     The  tyrants  invented  cruel  torments,  but 

did  not  kill  me. Ha !  not  to  be  able  to  die — not  to  be  able 

to  die — not  to  be  permitted  to  rest  after  the  toils  of  life— to 
be  doomed  to  be  imprisoned  for  ever  in  the  clay-formed 
dungeon — to  be  forever  clogged  with  this  worthless  body, 
its  load  of  diseases  and  infirmities — to  be  condemned  to 
hold  for  milleniums  that  yawning  monster  Sameness  and 
Time,  that  hungry  hyena,  ever  bearing  children,  and  ever 
devouring  again  her  offspring ! — Ha !  not  to  be  permitted 
to  die  !  Awful  avenger  in  heaven,  hast  thou  in  thine  ar- 
moury of  wrath  a  punishment  more  dreadful  ?  then  let  it 
thunder  upon  me ;  command  a  hurricane  to  sweep  me  down 
to  the  foot  of  Carmel,  that  I  there  may  lie  extended :  may 
pant,  and  writhe,  and  die  ! 

This  fragment  is  the  translation  of  part  of  some  German 
work,  whose  title  I  have  vainly  endeavoured  to  discover. 
I  picked  it  up,  dirty  and  torn,  some  years  ago,  in  Lincoln's- 
Inn-Fields. 

VII.  Page  50. 

I  will  beget  a  Son  and  he  shall  bear 
The  sins  of  all  the  world. 

A  book  is  put  into  our  hands  when  children,  called  the 
Bible,  the  purport  of  whose  history  is  briefly  this :  That  God 
made  the  earth  in  six  days,  and  there  planted  a  delightful 
garden,  in  which  he  placed  the  first  pair  of  human  beings. 
In  the  midst  of  the  garden  he  planted  a  tree,  whose  fruit, 
although  within  their  reach,  they  were  forbidden  to  touch. 
That  the  Devil,  in  the  shape  of  a  snake,  persuaded  them  to 
eat  of  this  fruit ;  in  consequence  of  which  God  condemned 
both  them  and  their  posterity  yet  unborn  to  satisfy  his  jus- 
tice by  their  eternal  misery.  That  four  thousand  years  after 

9 


98  NOTES. 

these  events,  (the  human  race  in  the  meanwhile  having 
gone  unredeemed  to  perdition,)  God  engendered  with  the 
betrothed  wife  of  a  carpenter  in  Judea,  (whose  virginity 
was  nevertheless  uninjured,)  and  begat  a  son  whose  name 
was  Jesus  Christ :  and  who  was  crucified  and  died,  in  order 
that  no  more  men  might  be  devoted  to  hell-fire,  he  bearing 
the  burden  of  his  Father's  displeasure  by  proxy.  The  book 
states,  in  addition,  that  the  soul  of  whoever  disbelieves  his 
sacrifice  will  be  burned  with  everlasting  fire. 

During  many  ages  of  misery  and  darkness  this  story 
gained  implicit  belief;  but  at  length  men  arose  who  suspect- 
ed that  it  was  a  fable  and  imposture,  and  that  Jesus  Christ, 
so  far  from  being  a  God,  was  only  a  man  like  themselves. 
But  a  numerous  set  of  men,  who  derived  and  still  derive 
immense  emoluments  from  this  opinion,  in  the  shape  of  a 
popular  belief,  told  the  vulgar,  that  if  they  did  not  believe 
in  the  Bible,  they  would  be  damned  to  all  eternity ;  and 
burned,  imprisoned,  and  poisoned  all  the  unbiassed  and  un- 
connected enquirers  who  occasionally  arose.  They  still 
oppress  them,  so  far  as  the  people,  now  become  more  en- 
lightened, will  allow. 

The  belief  in  all  that  the  Bible  contains  is  called  Christi- 
anity. A  Roman  Governor  of  Judea,  at  the  instances  of  a 
priest-led  mob,  crucified  a  man  called  Jesus,  eighteen  centu- 
ries ago.  He  was  a  man  of  pure  life,  who  desired  to  rescue 
his  countrymen  from  the  tyranny  of  their  barbarous  and 
degrading  superstitions.  The  common  fate  of  all  who  de- 
sire to  benefit  mankind  awaited  him.  The  rabble,  at  the 
instigation  of  the  priests,  demanded  his  death,  although  his 
very  judge  made  public  acknowledgment  of  his  innocence. 
Jesus  was  sacrificed  to  the  honour  of  that  God  with  whom 
he  was  afterwards  confounded.  It  is  of  importance,  there- 
fore, to  distinguish  between  the  pretended  character  of  this 
being,  as  the  Son  of  God  and  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and 
and  his  real  character  as  a  man,  who,  for  a  vain  attempt  to 
reform  the  world,  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  life  to  that  over- 
bearing tyranny  which  has  since  so  long  desolated  the  uni- 
verse in  his  name.  Whilst  the  one,  is  a  hypocritical  demon 
who  announces  himself  as  the  God  of  compassion  and 
peace,  even  whilst  he  stretches  forth  his  blood-red  hand 
with  the  sword  of  discord  to  waste  the  earth,  having  con- 
fessedly devised  this  scheme  of  desolation  from  eternity ;  the 
other  stands  in  the  foremost  list  of  those  true  heroes,  who 
have  died  in  the  glorious  martyrdom  of  liberty,  and  have 


NOTES.  99 

braved  torture,  contempt,  and  poverty,  in  the  cause  of  suf- 
fering humanity  .* 

The  vulgar,  ever  in  extremes,  became  persuaded  that  the 
crucifixion  of  Jesus  was  a  supernatural  event.  Testimonies 
of  miracles,  so  frequent  in  unenlightened  ages,  were  not 
wanting  to  prove  that  he  was  something  divine.  This  be- 
lief, rolling  through  the  lapse  of  ages,  met  with  the  reveries 
of  Plato  and  the  reasonings  of  Aristotle,  and  acquired  force 
and  extent,  until  the  divinity  of  Jesus  became  a  dogma, 
which  to  dispute  was  death,  which  to  doubt  was  infamy. 

Christianity  is  now  the  established  religion :  he  who  at- 
tempts to  impugn  it,  must  be  contented  to  behold  murder- 
ers and  traitors  take  precedence  of  him  in  public  opinion  ; 
though,  if  his  genius  be  equal  to  his  courage,  and  assisted 
by  a  peculiar  coalition  of  circumstances,  future  ages  may 
exalt  him  to  a  divinity,  and  persecute  others  in  his  name, 
as  he  was  persecuted  in  the  name  of  his  predecessor  in  the 
homage  of  the  world. 

The  same  means  that  have  supported  every  other  popu- 
lar belief,  have  supported  Christianity.  War,  imprisonment, 
assassination,  and  falsehood ;  deeds  of  unexampled  and  in- 
comparable atrocity  have  made  it  what  it  is.  The  blood 
shed  by  the  votaries  of  the  God  of  mercy  and  peace,  since 
the  establishment  of  his  religion,  would  probably  suffice  to 
drown  all  other  sectaries  now  on  the  habitable  globe.  We 
derive  from  our  ancestors  a  faith  thus  fostered  and  support- 
ed y  we  quarrel,  persecute,  and  hate  for  its  maintenance. 
Even  under  a  government  which,  whilst  it  infringes  the  very 
right  of  thought  and  speech,  boasts  of  permitting  the  liberty 
of  the  press,  a  man  is  pilloried  and  imprisoned  because  he  is 
a  Deist,  and  no  one  raises  his  voice  in  the  indignation  of  out- 
raged humanity.  But  it  is  ever  a  proof  that  the  falsehood  of  a 
proposition  is  felt  by  those  who  use  coercion,  not  reasoning, 
to  procure  its  admission  \  and  a  dispassionate  observer  would 
feel  himself  more  powerfully  interested  in  favour  of  a  man, 
who,  depending  on  the  truth  of  his  opinions,  simply  stated 
his  reasons  for  entertaining  them,  than  in  that  of  his  aggres- 
sor, who,  daringly  avowed  his  unwillingness  or  incapacity 
to  answer  them  by  argument  proceeded  to  repress  the  ener- 
gies and  break  the  spirit  of  their  promulgator  by  that  tor- 
ture and  imprisonment  whose  infliction  he  could  command. 

*  Since  writing  this  note,  T  have  seen  reason  to  suspect,  that  Jesus  was 
an  ambitious  man,  who  aspired  to  the  throne  of  Judea. 


100  NOTES. 

Analogy  seems  to  favour  the  opinion,  that  as,  like  other 
systems,  Christianity  has  arisen  and  augmented,  so  like 
them  it  will  decay  and  perish  ;  that,  as  violence,  darkness, 
and  deceit,  not  reasoning  and  persuasion,  have  procured  its 
admission  among  mankind,  so,  when  enthusiasm  has  sub- 
sided, and  time,  that  infallible  controverter  of  false  opinions 
has  involved  its  pretended  evidences  in  the  darkness  of  an- 
tiquity, it  will  become  obsolete  ;  that  Milton's  poem  alone 
will  give  permanency  to  the  remembrance  of  its  absurdities ; 
and  that  men  will  laugh  as  heartily  at  grace,  faith,  redemp- 
tion, and  original  sin,  as  they  now  do  at  the  metamorpho- 
ses of  Jupiter,  the  miracles  of  Romish  saints,  the  efficacy 
of  witchcraft,  and  the  appearance  of  departed  spirits. 

Had  the  Christian  religion  commenced  and  continued  by 
the  mere  force  of  reasoning  and  persuasion,  the  preceding 
analogy  would  be  inadmissible.  We  should  never  speculate 
on  the  future  obsoleteness  of  a  system  perfectly  conforma- 
ble to  nature  and  reason ;  it  would  endure  so  long  as  they 
endured ;  it  would  be  a  truth  as  indisputable  as  the  light  of 
the  sun,  the  criminality  of  murder,  and  other  facts,  whose 
evidence,  depending  on  our  organization  and  relative  situa- 
tions, must  remain  acknowledged  as  satisfactory,  so  long  as 
man  is  man.  It  is  an  incontrovertible  fact,  the  consideration 
of  which  ought  to  repress  the  hasty  conclusions  of  creduli- 
ty, or  moderate  its  obstinacy  in  maintaining  them,  that,  had 
the  Jews  not  been  a  fanatical  race  of  men,  had  even  the  re- 
solution of  Pontius  Pilate  been  equal  to  his  candour,  the 
Christian  religion  never  could  have  prevailed,  it  could  not 
even  have  existed  ;  on  so  feeble  a  thread  hangs  the  most 
cherished  opinion  of  a  sixth  of  the  human  race  !  When  will 
the  vulgar  learn  humility  ?  When  will  the  pride  of  igno- 
rance blush  at  having  believed  before  it  could  comprehend? 

Either  the  Christian  religion  is  true,  or  it  is  false:  if  true, 
it  comes  from  God,  and  its  authenticity  can  admit  of  doubt 
and  dispute  no  further  than  its  omnipotent  author  is  willing 
to  allow.  Either  the  power  or  the  goodness  of  God  is 
called  in  question,  if  he  leaves  those  doctrines  most  essen- 
tial to  the  well-being  of  man  in  doubt  and  dispute  ;  the  only 
ones  which,  since  their  promulgation  have  been  the  subject 
of  unceasing  cavil,  the  cause  of  irreconcileable  hatred.  If 
God  has  spoken,  why  is  the  universe  not  convinced  ? 

There  is  this  passage  in  the  Christian  Scriptures ;  "  Those 
who  obey  not  God,  and  believe  not  the  Gospel  of  his  Son, 
shall  be  punished  with  everlasting  destruction."  This  is  the 


NOTES.  101 

pivot  upon  which  all  religions  turn :  they  all  assume  that 
it  is  in  our  power  to  believe  or  not  to  believe ;  whereas  the 
mind  can  only  believe  that  which  it  thinks  true.  A  human 
being  can  only  be  supposed  accountable  for  those  actions 
which  are  influenced  by  his  will.  But  belief  is  utterly  dis- 
tinct from,  and  unconnected  with  volition ;  it  is  the  appre- 
hension of  the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  the  ideas  that 
compose  any  proposition.  Belief  is  a  passion,  or  involun- 
tary operation  of  the  mind,  and,  like  other  passions,  its  in- 
tensity is  precisely  proportionate  to  the  degrees  of  excite- 
ment. Volition  is  essential  to  merit  or  demerit.  But  the 
Christian  religion  attaches  the  highest  possible  degrees  of 
merit  and  demerit  to  that  which  is  worthy  of  neither,  and 
which  is  totally  unconnected  with  the  peculiar  faculty  of 
the  mind;  whose  presence  is  essential  to  their  being. 

Christianity  was  intended  to  reform  the  world :  had  an 
all-wise  being  planned  it,  nothing  is  more  improbable  than 
that  it  should  have  failed :  omniscience  would  infallibly  have 
foreseen  the  inutility  of  such  a  scheme  which  experience 
demonstrates,  to  this  age,  to  have  been  utterly  unsuccessful. 

Christianity  inculcates  the  necessity  of  supplicating  the 
Deity.  Prayer  may  be  considered  under  two  points  of 
view ;  as  an  endeavour  to  change  the  intentions  of  God,  or 
as  a  formal  testimony  of  our  obedience.  But  the  former 
case  supposes  that  the  caprices  of  a  limited  intelligence  can 
occasionally  instruct  the  Creator  of  the  world  how  to  regu- 
late the  universe ;  and  the  latter  a  certain  degree  of  servili- 
ty analogous  to  the  loyalty  demanded  by  earthly  tyrants. 
Obedience  indeed  is  only  the  pitiful  and  cowardly  egotism 
of  him  who  thinks  that  he  can  do  something  better  than 
reason. 

Christianity,  like  all  other  religions,  rests  upon  miracles, 
prophecies,  and  martyrdoms.  No  religion  ever  existed, 
which  had  not  its  prophets,  its  attested  miracles,  and,  above 
all,  crowds  of  devotees,  who  would  bear  patiently  the  most 
horrible  tortures  to  prove  its  authenticity.  It  should  appear 
that  in  no  case  can  a  discriminating  mind  subscribe  to  the 
genuineness  of  a  miracle.  A  miracle  is  an  infraction  of  na- 
ture's law,  by  a  supernatural  cause ;  by  a  cause  acting  be- 
yond that  eternal  circle  within  which  all  things  are  includ- 
ed. God  breaks  through  the  law  of  nature,  that  he  may 
convince  mankind  of  the  truth  of  that  revelation  which,  in 
spite  of  his  precautions,  has  been,  since  its  introduction, 
the  subject  of  unceasing  schism  and  cavil. 
9* 


102  NOTES. 

Miracles  resolve  themselves  into  the  following  question  :* 
Whether  it  is  more  probable  the  laws  of  nature,  hitherto  so 
immutably  harmonious,  should  have  undergone  violation, 
or  that  a  man  should  have  told  a  lie  1  Whether  it  is  more 
probable  that  we  are  ignorant  of  the  natural  cause  of  an 
event,  or  that  we  know  the  supernatural  one  1  That,  in  old 
times,  when  the  powers  of  nature  were  less  known  than  at 
present,  a  certain  set  of  men  were  themselves  deceived,  or 
had  some  hidden  motive  for  deceiving  others  ;  or  that  God 
begat  a  son,  who,  in  his  legislation,  measuring  merit  by  be- 
lief, evidenced  himself  to  be  totally  ignorant  of  the  powers 
of  the  human  mind — of  what  is  voluntary,  and  what  is  the 
contrary  1 

We  have  many  instances  of  men  telling  lies ; — none  of  an 
infraction  of  nature's  laws,  those  laws  of  whose  government 
alone  we  have  any  knowledge  or  experience.  The  records 
of  all  nations  afford  innumerable  instances  of  men  deceiving 
others  either  from  vanity  or  interest,  or  themselves  being 
deceived  by  the  limitedness  of  their  views  and  their  igno- 
rance of  natural  causes :  but  where  is  the  accredited  case  of 
God  having  come  upon  earth,  to  give  the  lie  to  his  own  crea- 
tions ?  There  would  be  something  truly  wonderful  in  the 
appearance  of  a  ghost ;  but  the  assertion  of  a  child  that  he 
saw  one  as  he  passed  through  the  church-yard,  is  univer- 
sally admitted  to  be  less  miraculous. 

But  even  supposing  that  a  man  should  raise  a  dead  body 
to  life  before  our  eyes,  and  on  this  fact  rest  his  claim  to  be- 
ing considered  the  son  of  God ; — the  Humane  Society  re- 
stores drowned  persons,  and  because  it  makes  no  mystery 
of  the  method  it  employs,  its  members  are  not  mistaken  for 
the  sons  of  God.  All  that  we  have  a  right  to  infer  from 
our  ignorance  of  the  cause  of  any  event  is  that  we  do  not 
know  it :  had  the  Mexicans  attended  to  this  simple  rule 
when  they  heard  the  cannon  of  the  Spaniards,  they  would 
not  have  considered  them  as  gods  :  the  experiments  of  mo- 
dern chemistry  would  have  defied  the  wisest  philosophers 
of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  to  have  accounted  for  them  on 
natural  principles.  An  author  of  strong  common  sense  has 
observed,  that  "  a  miracle  is  no  miracle  at  second  hand  ;" 
he  might  have  added,  that  a  miracle  is  no  miracle  in  any 
case  ;  for  until  we  are  acquainted  with  all  natural  causes, 
we  have  no  reason  to  imagine  others. 

*  See  Hume's  Essay,  vol.  ii.  page  121. 


NOTES.  103 

There  remains  to  be  considered  another  proof  of  Chris- 
tianity— Prophecy.  A  book  is  written  before  a  certain  event, 
in  which  this  event  is  foretold ;  how  could  the  prophet  have 
foreknown  it  without  inspiration  ?  how  could  he  have  been 
inspired  without  God  ?  The  greatest  stress  is  laid  on  the 
prophecies  of  Moses  and  Hosea  on  the  dispersion  of  the 
Jews,  and  that  of  Isaiah  concerning  the  coming  of  the  Mes- 
siah. The  prophecy  of  Moses  is  a  collection  of  every  pos- 
sible cursing  and  blessing;  and  it  is  so  far  from  being  mar- 
vellous that  the  one  of  dispersion  should  have  been  fulfilled, 
that  it  would  have  been  more  surprising  if,  out  of  all  these 
none  should  have  taken  effect.  In  Deuteronomy,  chapter 
xxviii.  verse  64,  where  Moses  explicitly  foretels  the  disper- 
sion, he  states  that  they  shall  there  serve  Gods  of  wood  and 
stone :  "  And  the  Lord  shall  scatter  thee  among  all  people, 
from  the  one  end  of  the  earth  even  to  the  other,  and  there 
thou  shalt  serve  other  gods,  which  neither  thou  nor  thy 
fathers  have  known,  even  gods  of  wood  and  stone."  The 
Jews  are  at  this  day  remarkably  tenacious  of  their  religion. 
Moses  also  declares  that  they  shall  be  subjected  to  these 
causes  for  disobedience  to  his  ritual ;  "  And  it  shall  come 
to  pass,  if  thou  wilt  not  hearken  unto  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  thy  God,  to  observe  to  do  all  the  commandments  and 
statutes  which  I  command  you  this  day,  that  all  these  cur- 
ses shall  come  upon  thee."  Is  this  the  real  reason  ?  The 
third,  fourth,  and  fifth  chapters  of  Hosea,  are  a  piece  of  im- 
modest confession.  The  indelicate  type  might  apply  in  a 
hundred  senses  to  a  hundred  things.  The  fifty-third  chap- 
ter of  Isaiah  is  more  explicit,  yet  it  does  not  exceed  in  clear- 
ness the  oracles  of  Delphos.  The  historical  proof  that  Mo- 
ses, Isaiah,  and  Hosea,  did  write  when  they  are  said  to 
have  written,  is  far  from  being  clear  and  circumstantial. 

But  prophecy  requires  proof  in  its  character  as  a  miracle  : 
we  have  no  right  to  suppose  that  a  man  foreknew  future 
events  from  God,  until  it  is  demonstrated  that  he  neither 
could  know  them  by  his  own  exertions,  nor  that  the  writ- 
ings which  contain  the  prediction  could  possibly  have  been 
fabricated  after  the  event  pretended  to  be  foretold.  It  is 
more  probable  that  writings,  pretending  to  divine  inspira- 
tion, should  have  been  fabricated  after  the  fulfilment  of 
their  pretended  prediction,  than  that  they  should  have  real- 
ly been  divinely  inspired ;  when  we  consider  that  the  latter 
supposition  makes  God  at  once  the  creator  of  the  human 
mind  and  ignorant  of  its  primary  powers,  particularly  as 


104  NOTES. 

we  have  numberless  instances  of  false  religions,  and  forged 
prophecies,  of  things  long  past,  and  no  accredited  case  of 
God  having  conversed  with  men  directly  or  indirectly.  It 
is  also  possible  that  the  description  of  an  event  might  have 
foregone  its  occurrence  j  but  this  is  far  from  being  a  legiti- 
mate proof  of  a  divine  revelation,  as  many  men,  not  pre- 
tending to  the  charactar  of  a  prophet,  have  nevertheless, 
in  this  sense,  prophesied. 

Lord  Chesterfield  was  never  yet  taken  for  a  prophet,  even 
by  a  bishop,yet  he  uttered  this  remarkable  prediction :  "  The 
despotic  government  of  France  is  screwed  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  ;  a  revolution  is  fast  approaching :  that  revolution,  I 
am  convinced,  will  be  radical  and  sanguinary.'1  This  ap- 
peared in  the  letters  of  the  prophet  long  before  the  accom- 
plishment of  this  wonderful  prediction.  Now,  have  these 
particulars  come  to  pass,  or  have  they  not  ?  If  they  have, 
how  could  the  Earl  have  foreknown  them  without  inspiration  ? 
If  we  admit  the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion  on  testimony 
such  as  this,  we  must  admit  on  the  same  strength  of  evidence, 
that  God  has  affixed  the  highest  rewards  to  belief,  and  the 
eternal  tortures  of  the  never-dying  worm  to  disbelief;  both 
of  which  have  been  demonstrated  to  be  involuntary. 

The  last  proof  of  the  Christian  religion  depends  on  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Theologians  divide  the  influence 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  into  its  ordinary  and  extraordinary  modes 
of  operation.  The  latter  is  supposed  to  be  that  which  inspired 
the  prophets  and  apostles ;  and  the  former  to  be  the  grace  of 
God,  which  summarily  makes  known  the  truth  of  his  revela- 
tion, to  those  whose  minds  are  fitted  for  its  reception  by  a 
submissive  perusal  of  his  word.  Persons  convinced  in  this 
manner,  can  do  any  thing  but  account  for  their  conviction,  de- 
scribe the  time  at  which  it  happened,  or  the  manner  in  which 
it  came  in  upon  them.  It  is  supposed  to  enter  the  mind  by 
other  channels  than  those  of  the  senses,  and  therefore  pro- 
fesses to  be  superior  to  reason  founded  on  their  experience. 

Admitting,  however,  the  usefulness  or  possibility  of  a  di- 
vine relation,  unless  we  demolish  the  foundations  of  all  hu- 
man knowledge,  it  is  requisite  that  our  reason  should  pre- 
viously demonstrate  its  genuineness :  for,  before  we  extin- 
guish the  steady  ray  of  reason  and  common  sense,  it  is  fit 
that  we  should  discover  whether  we  cannot  do  without  their 
assistance,  whether  or  no  there  be  any  other  which  may 
suffice  to  guide  us  through  the  labyrinth  of  life* :  for,  if  a 

*  See  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  book  iv.  chap,  xix., 
on  Enthusiasm. 


NOTES.  105 

man  is  to  be  inspired  upon  all  occasions,  if  he  is  to  be  sure 
of  a  thing  because  he  is  sure,  if  the  ordinary  operations  of 
the  spirit  are  not  to  be  considered  very  extraordinary  modes 
of  demonstration,  if  enthusiasm  is  to  usurp  the  place  of 
proof,  and  madness  that  of  sanity,  all  reasoning  is  superflu- 
ous. The  Mahometan  dies  fighting  for  his  prophet,  the  In- 
dian immolates  himself  at  the  chariot  wheels  of  Brahma, 
the  Hottentot  worships  an  insect,  the  Negro  a  bunch  of  fea- 
thers, the  Mexican  sacrifices  human  victims.  Their  degree 
of  conviction  must  certainly  be  very  strong  ■  it  cannot  arise 
from  conviction,  it  must  from  feelings,  the  reward  of  their 
prayers.  If  each  of  these  should  affirm,  in  opposition  to  the 
strongest  possible  arguments, that  inspiration  carried  internal 
evidence,!  fear  their  inspired  brethren, the  orthodox  mission- 
aries would  be  so  uncharitable  as  to  pronounce  them  obstinate. 
Miracles  cannot  be  received  as  testimonies  of  a  disputed 
fact,  because  all  human  testimony  has  ever  been  insufficient 
to  establish  the  possibility  of  miracles.  That  which  is  inca- 
pable of  proof  itself,  is  no  proof  of  any  thing  else.  Pro- 
phecy has  also  been  rejected  by  the  test  of  reason.  Those, 
then,  who  have  been  actually  inspired,  are  the  only  true  be- 
lievers in  the  Christian  religion. 

Mox  numine  viso 
Virginei  tumuere  sinus,  innuptaque  mater 
Arcano  stupuit  compleri  viscera  partu 
Auctorem  peritura  suum.     Mortalia  corda. 
Artificem  texere  poli,  latuitque  sub  uno 
Pectore,  qui  totum  late  complectitur  orbem. 

Claudiam,  Carmen  Paschate.* 

Does  not  so  monstrous  and  disgusting  an  absurdity  carry 
its  own  infamy  and  refutation  with  itself  ?    . 

VIII.  Page  58. 

Him,  (still  from  hope  to  hope  the  bliss  pursuing, 
Which,  from  the  exhaustless  lore  of  human  weal 
Dawns  on  the  virtuous  mind)  the  thoughts  that  rise 
In  time-destroying  infiniteness,  gift, 
With  self-enshrined  eternity,  &c. 

Time  is  our  consciousness  of  the  succession  of  ideas  in 
our  mind.  Vivid  sensation,  of  either  pain  or  pleasure  makes 

*  Upon  seeing  the  Divinity,  the  Virgin's  womb  soon  swelled,  and  the 
unmarried  mother  was  amazed  to  find  herself  filled  with  a  mysterious  pro- 
geny, and  that  she  was  to  bring  forth  to  the  world  her  own  Creator.  A 
mortal  frame  veiled  the  Framer  of  the  Heavens,  and  he  who  embraces  the 
wide-surrounding  circle  of  the  world,  lay  himself  concealed  in  the  reoesaea 
of  the  womb. 


106  NOTES. 

the  time  seem  long,  as  the  common  phrase  is,  because  it 
renders  us  more  acutely  conscious  of  our  ideas.  If  a  mind 
be  conscious  of  an  hundred  ideas  during  one  minute  by  the 
clock,  and  of  two  hundred  during  another,  the  latter  of  the 
spaces  would  actually  occupy  so  much  greater  extent  in  the 
mind  as  two  exceed  one  in  quantity.  If,  therefore,  the  hu- 
man mind,  by  any  future  improvement  of  its  sensibility, 
should  become  conscious  of  an  infinite  number  of  ideas  in  a 
minute,  that  minute  would  be  eternity.  I  do  not  hence  infer 
that  the  actual  space  between  the  birth  and  death  of  a  man 
will  ever  be  prolonged ;  but  that  his  sensibility  is  perfectible, 
and  that  the  number  of  ideas  which  his  mind  is  capable  of 
receiving  is  indefinite.  One  man  is  stretched  on  the  rack 
during  twelve  hours ;  another  sleeps  soundly  in  his  bed :  the 
difference  of  time  perceived  by  these  two  persons  is  immense; 
one  hardly  will  believe  that  half  an  hour  has  elapsed,  the 
other  could  credit  that  centuries  had  flown  during  his  ago- 
ny. Thus,  the  life  of  a  man  of  virtue  and  talent,  who  should 
die  in  his  thirtieth  year,  is,  with  regard  to  his  own  feelings, 
longer  than  that  of  a  miserable  priest-ridden  slave,  who 
dreams  out  a  century  of  dullness.  The  one  has  perpetual- 
ly cultivated  his  mental  faculties,  has  rendered  himself 
master  of  his  thoughts,  can  abstract  and  generalize  amid 
the  lethargy  of  every-day  business ; — the  other  can  slumber 
over  the  brightest  moments  of  his  being,  and  is  unable  to 
remember  the  happiest  hour  of  his  life.  Perhaps  the  pe- 
rishing ephemeron  enjoys  a  longer  life  than  the  tortoise. 

Dark  flood  of  time  ! 
Roll  as  listeth  thee — I  measure  not 
By  months  or  moments  thy  ambiguous  course, 
:  Another  may  stand  by  me  on  the  brink 
And  watch  the  bubble  whirled  beyond  his  ken 
That  pauses  at  my  feet.     The  sense  of  love, 
The  thirst  for  action,  and  the  impassioned  thought 
Prolong  my  being.     If  I  wake  no  more, 
My  life  more  actual  living  will  contain 
Than  some  grey  veterans  of  the  world's  cold  school. 
Whose  listless  hours  unprofitably  roll, 
By  one  enthusiast  feeling  unredeemed. 
See  Godwin's  Pol  Jus.  vol.  i.  p.  41 1 ;  and  Condorcet,  Esquisse  rf'wn 
Tableau  Historique  des  Progres  de  V Esprit  humain,  Epoque  ix. 


NOTES.  107 


VIII.  Page  59. 


No  longer  now 
He  slays  the  lamb  that  looks  him  in  the  face. 

I  hold  that  the  depravity  of  the  physicial  and  moral  na- 
ture of  man  originated  in  his  unnatural  habits  of  life.  The 
origin  of  man,  like  that  of  the  universe,  of  which  he  is  a 
part,  is  enveloped  in  impenetrable  mystery.  His  generations 
either  had  a  beginning,  or  they  had  not.  The  weight  of 
evidence  in  favour  of  each  of  these  suppositions  seems  tole- 
rably equal ;  and  it  is  perfectly  unimportant  to  the  present 
argument  which  is  assumed.  The  language  spoken,  how- 
ever, by  the  mythology  of  nearly  all  religions  seems  to 
prove,  that  at  some  distant  period  man  forsook  the  path  of 
nature,  and  sacrificed  the  purity  and  happiness  of  his  being 
to  unnatural  appetites.  The  date  of  this  event  seems  to 
have  also  been  that  of  some  great  change  in  the  climates  of 
the  earth,  with  which  it  has  an  obvious  correspondence. 
The  allegory  of  Adam  and  Eve  eating  of  the  tree  of  evil, 
and  entailing  upon  their  posterity  the  wrath  of  God,  and  the 
loss  of  everlasting  life,  admits  of  no  other  explanation  than 
the  disease  and  crime  that  have  flowed  from  unnatural  diet. 
Milton  was  so  well  aware  of  this,  that  he  makes  Raphael 
thus  exhibit  to  Adam  the  consequence  of  his  disobedience. 


Immediately  a  place 


Before  his  eyes  appeared  :  sad,  noisome,  dark  : 
A  lazar-house  it  seemed ;  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased :  all  maladies 
Of  ghastly  spasm,  or  racking  torture,  qualms 
Of  heart-sick  agony,  all  feverous  kinds, 
Convulsions,  epilepsies,  fierce  catarrhs, 
Intestine  stone  and  ulcer,  cholic  pangs, 
Daemoniac  frenzy,  moping  melancholy, 
And  moon-struck  madness,  pining  atrophy, 
Marasmus,  and  wide-wasting  pestilence, 
Dropsies,  and  asthmas,  and  joint  racking  rheums. 

And  how  many  thousand  more  might  not  be  added  to 
this  frightful  catalogue ! 

The  story  of  Prometheus  is  one  likewise,  which,  although 
universally  admitted  to  be  allegorical,  has  never  been  satis- 
factorily explained.  Prometheus  stole  fire  from  heaven,  and 


108  NOTES. 

was  chained  for  this  crime  to  mount  Caucasus,  where  a  vul- 
ture continually  devoured  his  liver,  that  grew  to  meet  its 
hunger.  Hesiod  says  that  before  the  time  of  Prometheus, 
mankind  were  exempt  from  suffering  ;  that  they  enjoyed  a 
vigorous  youth,  and  that  death,  when  at  length  it  came,  ap- 
proached like  sleep,  and  gently  closed  their  eyes.  Again, 
so  general  was  this  opinion,  that  Horace,  a  poet  of  the  Au- 
gustan age,  writes — 

Thus  from  the  sun's  ethereal  beam 
When  bold  Prometheus  stole  th'  enlivening  flame, 

Of  fevers  dire  a  ghastly  brood, 
Till  then  unknown,  th'  unhappy  fraud  pursu'd ; 

On  earth  their  horrors  baleful  spread, 
And  the  pale  monarch  of  the  dead, 

Till  then  slow-moving  to  his  prey, 
Precipitately  rapid  swept  his  way. 

Francis's  Horace,  Book  i.  Ode  3. 

How  plain  a  language  is  spoken  by  all  this.  Prometheus 
(who  represents  the  human  race)  effected  some  great  change 
in  the  condition  of  his  nature,  and  applied  fire  to  culinary 
purposes ;  thus  inventing  an  expedient  for  screening  from 
his  disgust  the  horrors  of  the  shambles.  From  this  moment 
his  vitals  were  devoured  by  the  vulture  of  disease.  It  con- 
sumed his  being  in  every  shape  of  its  loathsome  and  infinite 
variety,  inducing  the  soul-quelling  sinkings  of  premature 
and  violent  death.  All  vice  arose  from  the  ruin  of  healthful 
innocence.  Tyranny,  superstition,  commerce,  and  inequa- 
lity, were  then  first  known,  when  reason  vainly  attempted 
to  guide  the  wanderings  of  exacerbated  passion.  I  conclude 
this  part  of  the  subject  with  an  extract  from  Mr.  Newton's 
Defence  of  Vegetable  Regimen,  from  whom  I  have  borrow- 
ed this  interpretation  of  the  fable  of  Prometheus. 

"  Making  allowance  for  such  transpositions  of  the  events 
of  the  allegory  as  time  might  produce  after  the  important 
truths  were  forgotten,  which  this  portion  of  the  ancient  my- 
thology was  intended  to  transmit,  the  drift  of  the  fable  seems 
to  be  this  :— Man  at  his  creation  was  endowed  with  the  gift 
of  perpetual  youth ;  that  is,  he  was  not  formed  to  be  a  sickly 
suffering  creature,  as  we  now  see  hirn,  but  to  enjoy  health, 
and  to  sink  by  slow  degrees  into  the  bosom  of  his  parent 
earth,  without  disease  or  pain.   Prometheus  first  taught  the 


NOTES.  109 

use  of  animal  food  (primus  bovem  occidit  Prometheus*) 
and  of  fire,  with  which  to  render  it  more  digestible  and 
pleasing  to  the  taste.  Jupiter,  and  the  rest  of  the  gods, 
foreseeing  the  consequences  of  these  inventions,were  amus- 
ed or  irritated  at  the  short-sighted  devices  of  the  newly- 
formed  creature,  and  left  him  to  experience  the  sad  effects 
of  them.  Thirst,  the  necessary  concomitant  of  a  flesh 
diet,"  (perhaps  of  all  diet  vitiated  by  culinary  preparation,) 
"  ensued  ;  water  was  resorted  to,  and  man  forfeited  the  in- 
estimable gift  of  health  which  he  had  received  from  hea- 
ven :  he  became  diseased,  the  partaker  of  a  precarious  ex- 
istence, and  no  longer  descended  slowly  to  his  grave."* 

But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 

And  every  death  its  own  avenger  breeds  ;  r 

The  fury  passions  from  that  blood  began, 

And  turned  on  man  a  fiercer  savage — man. 

Man  and  the  animals  whom  he  has  infected  with  his  so- 
ciety, or  depraved  by  his  dominion,  are  alone  diseased.  The 
wild  hog,  the  mouflon,  the  bison,  and  the  wolf,  are  perfect- 
ly exempt  from  malady,  and  invariably  die  either  from 
external  violence,  or  natural  old  age.  But  the  domestic 
hog,  the  sheep,  the  cow,  and  the  dog,  are  subject  to  an  incre- 
dible variety  of  distempers  :  and  like  the  corrupters  of 
their  nature,  have  physicians  who  thrive  upon  their  mise- 
ries. The  supereminenceof  man  is  like  Satan's,  a  super- 
eminence  of  pain  ;  and  the  majority  of  his  species,  doomed 
to  penury,  disease^  and  crime,  have  reason  to  curse  the  un- 
toward event,  that  by  enabling  him  to  communicate  his 
sensations,  raised  him  above  the  level  of  his  fellow  animals. 
But  the  steps  that  have  been  taken  are  irrevocable.  The 
whole  of  human  science  is  comprised  in  one  question  :— 
How  can  the  advantages  of  intellect  and  civilization  be  re- 
conciled with  the  liberty  and  pure  pleasures  of  natural  life  ? 
How  can  we  take  the  benefits,  and  reject  the  evils  of  the 
system,  which  is  now  interwoven  with  all  the  fibres  of  our 
being? — I  believe  that  abstinence  from  animal  food  and 
spirituous  liquors  would  in  a  great  measure  capacitate  us 
for  the  solution  of  this  important  question. 

It  is  true,  that  mental  and  bodily  derangement  is  attri- 
butable in  part  to  other  deviations  from  rectitude  and  nature 

*  Prometheus  first  killed  an  ox.     Plin.  Nat.  Hist.  lib.  vii.  sect  57. 
t  Return  to  Nature.       Cadell,  1811. 

10 


110  NOTES. 

than  those  which  concern  diet.  The  mistakes  cherished 
by  society  respecting  the  connexion  of  the  sexes,  whence 
the  misery  and  diseases  of  unsatisfied  celibacy,  unenjoying 
prostitution,  and  the  premature  arrival  of  puberty  necessa- 
rily spring  ;  the  putrid  atmosphere  of  crowded  cities  ;  the 
exhalations  of  chemical  processes :  the  muffling  of  our 
bodies  in  superfluous  apparel ;  the  absurd  treatment  of  in- 
fants : — all  these,  and  innumerable  other  causes,  contribute 
their  mite  to  the  mass  of  human  evil. 

Comparative  anatomy  teaches  us  that  man  resembles  fru- 
giverous  animals  in  every  thing,and  carnivorous  in  nothing ; 
he  has  neither  claws  wherewith  to  seize  his  prey,  nor  dis- 
tinct and  pointed  teeth  to  tear  the  living  fibre.  A  mandarin 
of  the  first  class,  with  nails  two  inches  long,  would  proba- 
bly find  them  alone,  inefficient  to  hold  even  a  hare.  After 
every  subterfuge  of  gluttony,  the  bull  must  be  degraded 
into  the  ox,  and  the  ram  into  the  wether,  by  an  unnatural 
and  inhuman  operation,  that  the  flaccid  fibre  may  offer  a 
fainter  resistance  to  rebellious  nature.  It  is  only  by  soft- 
ening and  disguising  dead  flesh  by  culinary  preparations, 
that  it  is  rendered  susceptible  of  mastication  or  digestion  ; 
and  that  the  sight  of  its  bloody  juices  and  raw  horror  does 
not  excite  intolerable  loathing  and  disgust.  Let  the  advo- 
cate of  animal  food  force  himself  to  a  decisive  experiment 
on  its  fitness,  and,  as  Plutarch  recommends,  tear  a  living 
lamb  with  his  teeth,  and  plunging  his  head  into  its  vitals, 
slake  his  thirst  with  the  steaming  blood  ;  when  fresh  from 
the  deed  of  horror,  let  him  revert  to  the  irresistible  instincts 
of  nature  that  would  rise  in  judgment  against  it,  and  say 
Nature  formed  me  for  such  work  as  this.  Then,  and  then 
only,  would  he  be  consistent. 

Man  resembles  no  carnivorous  animal.  There  is  no  ex- 
ception, unless  man  be  one,  to  the  rule  of  herbiverous  ani- 
mals having  cellulated  colons. 

The  ourang-outang  perfectly  resembles  man  both  in  the 
order  and  number  of  his  teeth.  The  ourang-outang  is  the 
most  anthropomorphous  of  the  ape  tr,ibe,  all  of  which  are 
strictly  frugiverous.  There  is  no  other  species  of  animals, 
which  live  on  different  food,  in  which  this  analogy  exists* 
In  many  frugivorous  animals,  the  canine  teeth  are  more 
pointed  and  distinct  than  those  of  man.    The  resemblance 

*  Cuvier,  Lemons  d'Anat.  Comp.  torn.  hi.  pages  169,  373,  448,  465,  480. 
Rees's  Cyclopaedia,  article  Man. 


NOTES.  Ill 

also  of  the  human  stomach  to  that  of  the  ourang-outang,  is 
greater  than  to  that  of  any  other  animal. 

The  intestines  are  also  identical  with  those  of  herbivorous 
animals,  which  present  a  large  surface  for  absorption,  and 
have  ample  and  cellulated  colons.  The  ccecum  also,  though 
short,  is  larger  than  that  of  carnivorous  animals ;  and  even 
here  the  ourang-outang  retains  its  accustomed  similarity. 

The  structure  of  the  human  frame  then  is  that  of  one  fit- 
ted to  a  pure  vegetable  diet,  in  every  essential  particular. 
It  is  true,  that  the  reluctance  to  abstain  from  animal  food, 
in  those  who  have  been  long  accustomed  to  its  stimulus,  is 
so  great  in  some  persons  of  weak  minds,  as  to  be  scarcely 
overcome ;  but  this  is  far  from  bringing  any  argument  in 
its  favour.  A  lamb  which  was  fed  for  some  time  on  flesh 
by  a  ship's  crew,  refused  its  natural  diet  at  the  end  of  the 
voyage.  There  are  numerous  instances  of  horses,  sheep, 
oxen,  and  even  wood-pigeons,  having  been  taught  to  live 
upon  flesh,  until  they  have  loathed  their  natural  aliment. 
Young  children  evidently  prefer  pastry,  oranges,  apples, 
and  other  fruit,  to  the  flesh  of  animals,  until  by  the  gradual 
depravation  of  the  digestive  organs,  the  free  use  of  vegeta- 
bles has  for  a  time  produced  serious  inconveniences  '.for  a 
ti7?ie,  I  say,  since  there  never  was  an  instance  wherein  a 
change  from  spirituous  liquors  and  animal  food  to  vegeta- 
bles and  pure  water,  has  failed  ultimately  to  invigorate  the 
body,  by  rendering  its  juices  bland  and  consentaneous,  and 
to  restore  to  the  mind  that  cheerfulness  and  elasticity,  which 
not  one  in  fifty  possesses  on  the  present  system.  A  love  of 
strong  liquors  is  also  with  difficulty  taught  to  infants.  Al- 
most every  one  remembers  the  wry  faces  which  the  first 
glass  of  port  produced.  Unsophisticated  instinct  is  invaria- 
bly unerring  ;  but  to  decide  on  the  fitness  of  animal  food, 
from  the  perverted  appetites  which  its  constrained  adoption 
produces,  is  to  make  the  criminal  a  judge  in  his  own  cause: 
it  is  even  worse,  it  is  appealing  to  the  infatuated  drunkard 
in  a  question  of  the  salubrity  of  brandy. 

What  is  the  cause  of  morbid  action  in  the  animal  system? 
Not  the  air  we  breathe,  for  our  fellow  denizens  of  nature 
breathe  the  same  uninjured  ;  not  the  water  we  drink,  if  re- 
mote from  the  pollutions  of  man  and  his  inventions,*  for  the 

*  The  necessity  of  resorting  to  some  means  of  purifying  water,  and  the 
diseases  which  arise  from  its  adulteration  in  civilized  countries,  is  suffi- 
ciently apparent.  See  Dr.  Lambe's  Reports  on  Cancer.  I  do  not  assert 
that  the  use  of  water  is  in  itself  unnatural,  but  that  the  unperverted  palate 
would  swallow  no  liquid  capable  of  occasioning  disease. 


112  NOTES. 

animals  drink  it  too  ;  not  the  earth  we  tread  upon  :  not  the 
unobscured  sight  of  glorious  nature,  in  the  wood,  the  field, 
or  the  expanse  of  sky  and  ocean ;  nothing  that  we  are  or  do 
in  common  with  the  undiseased  inhabitants  of  the  forest. 
Something  then  wherein  we  differ  from  them  ;  our  habit  of 
altering  our  food  by  fire,  so  that  our  appetite  is  no  longer  a 
just  criterion  for  the  fitness  of  its  gratification.  Except  in 
children  there  remain  no  traces  of  that  instinct  which  deter- 
mines, in  all  other  animals,  what  aliment  is  natural  or  other- 
wise ;  and  so  perfectly  obliterated  are  they  in  the  reasoning 
adults  of  our  species,  that  it  has  become  necessary  to  urge 
considerations  drawn  from  compar'  Mve  anatomy;  to  prove 
that  we  are  naturally  frugivorous. 

Crime  is  madness.  Madness  is  disease.  Whenever  the 
cause  of  disease  shall  be  discovered,  the  root  from  which 
all  vice  and  misery  have  so  long  overshadoAved  the  globe, 
will  lie  bare  to  the  axe.  All  the  exertions  of  man,  from  that 
moment,  may  be  considered  as  tending  to  the  clear  profit  of 
his  species.  No  sane  mind  in  a  sane  body  resolves  upon  a 
real  crime.  It  is  a  man  of  violent  passions,  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  swollen  veins,  that  alone  can  grasp  the  knife  of  murder. 
The  system  of  a  simple  diet  promises  no  Utopian  advanta- 
ges. It  is  no  mere  reform  of  legislation,  whilst  the  furious 
passions  and  evil  propensities  of  the  human  heart,  in  which 
it  had  its  origin,  are  still  unassuaged.  It  strikes  at  the  root 
of  all  evil,  and  is  an  experiment  which  may  be  tried  with 
success,  not  alone  by  nations,  but  by  small  societies,families, 
and  even  individuals.  In  no  cases  has  a  return  to  vegetable 
diet  produced  the  slightest  injury  ;  in  most  it  has  been  at- 
tended with  changes  undeniably  beneficial.  Should  ever 
a  physician  be  born  with  the  genius  of  Locke,  I  am  persuad- 
ed that  he  might  trace  all  bodily  and  mental  derangements 
to  our  unnatural  habits,  as  clearly  as  that  philosopher  has 
traced  all  knowledge  to  sensation.  What  prolific  sources  of 
disease  are  not  those  mineral  and  vegetable  poisons  that 
have  been  introduced  for  its  extirpation  !  How  many  thou- 
sands have  become  murderers  and  robbers,  bigots  and  do- 
mestic tyrants,  dissolute  and  abandoned  adventurers,  from 
the  use  of  fermented  liquors  ;  who,  had  they  slaked  their 
thirst  only  with  pure  water,  would  have  lived  but  to  diffuse 
the  happiness  of  their  own  unperverted  feelings.  How  ma- 
ny groundless  opinions  and  absurd  institutions  have  not  re- 
ceived a  general  sanction  from  the  sottishness  and  intem- 
perance of  individuals  !    Who  will  assert  that,  had  the  po- 


NOTES.  113 

pulace  of  Paris  satisfied  their  hunger  at  the  ever-furnished 
table  of  vegetable  nature,  they  would  have  lent  their  brutal 
suffrage  to  the  proscription-list  of  Robespierre?  Could  a 
set  of  men  whose  passions  were  not  perverted  by  unnatural 
stimuli,  look  with  coolness  on  an  auto  dafe.  Is  it  to  be  be- 
lieved that  a  being  of  gentle  feelings  rising  from  his  meal 
of  roots,  would  take  delight  in  sports  of  blood?  Was  Nero 
a  man  of  temperate  life  ?  Could  you  read  calm  health  in 
his  cheek,  flushed  with  ungovernable  propensities  of  hatred 
for  the  human  race?  Did  Muley  Ismail's  pulse  beat  evenly, 
was  his  skin  transparent,  did  his  eyes  beam  with  healthful- 
ness,  and  its  invariable  concomitants,  cheerfulness  and  be- 
nignity ?  Though  history  has  decided  none  of  these  ques- 
tions, a  child  could  not  hesitate  to  answer  in  the  negative. 
Surely  the  bile-suffused  cheek  of  Buonaparte,  his  wrinkled 
brow,  and  yellow  eye,  the  ceaseless  inquietude  of  his  ner- 
vous system,  speak  no  less  plainly  the  character  of  his  un- 
resting ambition  than  his  murders  and  his  victories.  It  is 
impossible,  had  Buonaparte  descended  from  a  race  of  vege- 
table feeders,  that  he  could  have  had  either  the  inclination 
or  the  power  to  ascend  the  throne  of  the  Bourbons.  The 
desire  of  tyranny  could  scarcely  be  excited  in  the  indivi- 
dual, the  power  to  tyrannize  would  certainly  not  be  dele- 
gated by  a  society  neither  frenzied  by  inebriation,  nor 
rendered  impotent  and  irrational  by  disease.  Pregnant 
indeed  with  inexhaustible  calamity  is  the  renunciation  of 
instinct,  as  it  concerns  our  physical  nature ;  arithmetic  can- 
not enumerate,  nor  reason  perhaps  suspect  the  multitudi- 
nous sources  of  disease  in  civilized  life.  Even  common 
water,  that  apparently  innoxious  pabulum,  when  corrupted 
by  the  filth  of  populous  cities,  is  a  deadly  and  insidious  de- 
stroyer.* Who  can  wonder  that  all  the  inducements,  held 
out  by  God  himself  in  the  Bible,  to  virtue  should  have  been 
vainer  than  a  nurse's  tale ;  and  that  those  dogmas,  by  which 
he  has  there  excited  and  justified  the  most  ferocious  pro- 
pensities, should  have  alone  been  deemed  essential ;  whilst 
Christians  are  in  the  daily  practice  of  all  those  habits  which 
have  infected  with  disease  and  crime,  not  only  the  reprobate 
sons,  but  these  favoured  children  of  the  common  Father's 
love.  Omnipotence  itself  could  not  save  them  from  the 
consequences  of  this  original  and  universal  sin. 
There  is  no  disease,  bodily  or  mental,  which  adoption  of, 

*  Lambe's  Reports  on  Cancer. 

10* 


114  NOTES. 

vegetable  diet  and  pure  water  has  not  infallibly  mitigated, 
wherever  the  experiment  has  been  fairly  tried.  Debility  is 
gradually  converted  into  strength,  disease  into  healthful- 
ness  :  madness,  in  all  its  hideous  variety,  from  the  ravings 
of  the  fettered  maniac,  to  the  unaccountable  irrationalities 
of  ill-temper,  that  make  a  hell  of  domestic  life,  into  a  calm 
and  considerate  evenness  of  temper,  that  alone  might  offer 
a  certain  pledge  of  the  future  moral  reformation  of  society. 
On  a  natural  system  of  diet,  old  age  would  be  our  last  and 
our  only  malady  :  the  term  of  our  existence  would  be  pro- 
tracted ;  we  should  enjoy  life,  and  no  longer  preclude  others 
from  the  enjoyment  of  it :  all  sensational  delights  would  be 
infinitely  more  exquisite  and  perfect ;  the  very  sense  of  be- 
ing would  then  be  a  continued  pleasure,  such  as  we  now 
feel  it  in  some  few  and  favoured  moments  of  our  youth. 
By  all  that  is  sacred  in  our  hopes  for  the  human  race,  I  con- 
jure those  who  love  happiness  and  truth,  to  give  a  fair  trial 
to  the  vegetable  system.  Reasoning  is  surely  superfluous 
on  a  subject  whose  merits  an  experience  of  six  months 
would  set  for  ever  at  rest.  But  it  is  only  among  the  en- 
lightened and  benevolent  that  so  great  a  sacrifice  of  appetite 
and  prejudice  can  be  expected,  even  though  its  ultimate 
excellence  should  not  admit  of  dispute.  It  is  found  easier 
by  the  short-sighted  victims  of  disease,  to  palliate  their 
torments,  by  medicine,  than  to  prevent  them  by  regimen. 
The  vulgar  of  all  ranks  are  invariably  sensual  and  indocile ; 
yet  I  cannot  but  feel  myself  persuaded,  that  when  the  bene- 
fits of  vegetable  diet  are  mathematically  proved :  when  it 
is  as  clear,  that  those  who  live  naturally  are  exempt  from 
premature  death,  as  that  nine  is  not  one,  the  most  sottish  of 
mankind  will  feel  a  preference  towards  a  long  and  tranquil, 
contrasted  with  a  short  and  painful  life.  On  the  average,  out 
of  sixty  persons,  four  die  in  three  years.  Hopes  are  enter- 
tained, that  in  April  1814,  a  statement  will  be  given  that 
sixty  persons,  all  having  lived  more  than  three  years  on 
vegetables  and  pure  water,  are  then  in  perfect  health. 
More  than  two  years  has  now  elapsed ;  not  one  of  them  has 
died  ;  no  such  example  will  be  found  in  any  sixty  persons 
taken  at  random.  Seventeen  persons  of  all  ages  (the  fa- 
milies of  Dr.  Lambe  and  Mr.  Newton)  have  lived  for  seven 
years  on  this  diet  without  a  death,  and  almost  without  the 
slightest  illness.  Surely,  when  we  consider  that  some  of 
these  were  infants,  and  one  a  martyr  to  asthma,  now  near- 
ly subdued,  we  may  challenge  any  seventeen  persons  taken 


NOTES.  115 

at  random  in  this  city  to  exhibit  a  parallel  case.  Those 
who  may  have  been  excited  to  question  the  rectitude  of  es- 
tablished habits  of  diet,  by  these  loose  remarks,  should  con- 
sult Mr.  Newton's  luminous  and  eloquent  essay.* 

When  these  proofs  come  fairly  before  the  world,  and  are 
clearly  seen  by  all  who  understand  arithmetic,  it  is  scarcely 
possible  that  abstinence  from  aliments  demonstrably  perni- 
cious should  not  become  universal. 

In  proportion  to  the  number  of  proselytes,  so  will  be  the 
weight  of  evidence ;  and  when  a  thousand  persons  can  be 
produced,  living  on  vegetables  and  distilled  water,  who  have 
to  dread  no  disease  but  old  age,  the  world  will  be  com- 
pelled to  regard  animal  flesh  and  fermented  liquors  as  slow 
but  certain  poisons.  The  change  which  would  be  produ- 
ced by  simpler  habits  on  political  economy,  is  sufficiently 
remarkable.  The  monopolizing  eater  of  animal  flesh  would 
no  longer  destroy  his  constitution  by  devouring  an  acre  at 
a  meal,  and  many  loaves  of  bread  would  cease  to  contri- 
bute to  gout,  madness,  and  apoplexy,  in  the  shape  of  a  pint 
of  porter,  or  a  dram  of  gin,  when  appeasing  the  long-pro- 
tracted famine  of  the  hard-working  peasant's  hungry  babes. 
The  quantity  of  nutritious  vegetable  matter,  consumed  in 
fattening  the  carcase  of  an  ox,  would  afford  ten  times  the 
sustenance,  undepraving  indeed,  and  incapable  of  genera- 
ting disease,  if  gathered  immediately  from  the  bosom  of 
the  earth.  The  most  fertile  districts  of  the  habitable  globe 
are  now  actually  cultivated  by  men  for  animals  at  a  delay 
and  waste  of  aliment  absolutely  incapable  of  calculation. 
It  is  only  the  wealthy  that  can,  to  any  great  degree,  even 
now,  indulge  the  unnatural  craving  for  dead  flesh,  and  they 
pay  for  the  greater  license  of  the  privilege,  by  subjection 
to  supernumerary  diseases.  Again,  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
that  should  take  the  lead  in  this  great  reform  would  insen- 
sibly become  agricultural :  commerce,  with  all  its  vice,  self- 
ishness, and  corruption,  would  gradually  decline  ;  more 
natural  habits  would  produce  gentler  manners,  and  the  ex- 
cessive complication  of  political  relations  would  be  so  far 
simplified  that  every  individual  might  feel  and  understand 
why  he  loved  his  country,  and  took  a  personal  interest  in 
its  welfare.  How  Would  England,  for  example,  depend  on 
the  caprices  of  foreign  rulers,  if  she  contained  within  her- 
self all  the  necessaries,  and  despised  whatever  they  possess- 

*  Return  to  Nature,  or  Defence  of  Vegetable  Regimen.     Cadell,  1811. 


116  NOTES. 

ed  of  the  luxuries  of  life  1  How  could  they  starve  her  into 
compliance  with  their  views  ?  Of  what  consequence  would 
it  be  that  they  refused  to  take  her  woollen  manufactures, 
when  large  and  fertile  tracts  of  the  island  ceased  to  be  al- 
lotted to  the  waste  of  pasturage  ?  On  a  natural  system  of 
diet,  we  should  require  no  spices  from  India ;  no  wines  from 
Portugal,  Spain,  France,  or  Madeira  ;  none  of  those  multi- 
tudinous articies  of  luxury,  for  which  every  corner  of  the 
globe  is  rifled,  and  which  are  the  causes  of  so  much  indivi- 
dual rivalship,  such  calamitous  and  sanguinary  national  dis- 
putes. In  the  history  of  modern  times,  the  avarice  of  com- 
mercial monopoly,  no  less  than  the  ambition  of  weak  and 
wicked  chiefs,  seems  to  have  fomented  the  universal  discord, 
to  have  added  stubbornness  to  the  mistakes  of  cabinets,  and 
indocility  to  the  infatuation  of  the  people.  Let  it  ever  be 
remembered,  that  it  is  the  direct  influence  of  commerce  to 
make  the  interval  between  the  richest  and  the  poorest  man, 
wider  and  more  unconquerable.  Let  it  be  remembered,  that 
it  is  a  foe  to  every  thing  of  real  worth  and  excellence  in  the 
human  character.  The  odious  and  disgusting  aristocracy 
of  wealth,  is  built  upon  the  ruins  of  all  that  is  good  in  chi- 
valry or  republicanism  ;  and  luxury  is  the  forerunner  of  a 
barbarism  scarce  capable  of  cure.  Is  it  impossible  to  real- 
ize a  state  of  society,  where  all  the  energies  of  man  shall  be 
directed  to  the  production  of  his  solid  happiness  ?  Certainly, 
if  this  advantage  (the  object  of  all  political  speculation)  be 
in  any  degree  attainable,  it  is  attainable  only  by  a  commu- 
nity, which  holds  out  no  factitious  incentives  to  the  avarice 
and  ambition  of  the  few,  and  which  is  internally  organized 
for  the  liberty,  security,  and  comfort  of  the  many.  None 
must  be  entrusted  with  power  (and  money  is  the  completest 
species  of  power)  who  do  not  stand  pledged  to  use  it  ex- 
clusively for  the  general  benefit.  But  the  use  of  animal  flesh 
and  fermented  liquors,  directly  militates  with  this  equality  of 
the  rights  of  man.  The  peasant  cannot  gratify  these  fashion- 
able cravings  without  leaving  his  family  to  starve.  Without 
disease  and  war,  those  sweeping  curtailers  of  population, 
pasturage  would  include  a  waste  too  great  to  be  afforded. 
The  labour  requisite  to  support  a  family  is  far  lighter*  than 

*  It  has  come  under  the  author's  experience,  that  some  of  the  workmen 
on  an  embankment  in  North  Wales  who,  in  consequence  of  the  inability  of 
the  proprietor  to  pay  them,  seldom  received  their  wages,  have  supported 
large  families  by  cultivating  small  spots  of  sterile  ground  by  moonlight.  In 
the  notes  to  Pratt's  poem,  "  Bread  or  the  Poor,"  is  an  account  of  an  in- 


NOTES.  117 

is  usually  supposed.  The  peasantry  work,  not  only  for 
themselves,  but  for  the  aristocracy,  the  army,  and  the  manu- 
facturers. 

The  advantage  of  a  reform  in  diet  is  obviously  greater 
than  that  of  any  other.  It  strikes  at  the  root  of  the  evil. 
To  remedy  the  abuses  of  legislation,  before  we  annihilate 
the  propensities  by  which  they  are  produced,  is  to  suppose, 
that  by  taking  away  the  effect,  the  cause  will  cease  to  ope- 
rate. But  the  efficacy  of  this  system  depends  entirely  on 
the  proselytism  of  individuals,  and  grounds  its  merits,  as  a 
benefit  to  the  community,  upon  the  total  change  of  the  die- 
tetic habits  in  its  members.  It  proceeds  securely  from  a 
number  of  particular  cases  to  one  that  is  universal,  and  has 
this  advantage  over  the  contrary  mode,  that  one  error  does 
not  invalidate  all  that  has  gone  before. 

Let  not  too  much,  however,  be  expected  from  this  system. 
The  healthiest  among  us  is  not  exempt  from  hereditary 
disease.  The  most  symmetrical,  athletic,  and  long-lived 
is  a  being  inexpressiby  inferior  to  what  he  would  have  been 
had  not  the  unnatural  habits  of  his  ancestors  accumulated 
for  him  a  certain  portion  of  malady  and  deformity.  In  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  civilized  man,  something  is  still 
found  wanting  by  the  physiological  critic.  Can  a  return 
to  nature,  then,  instantaneously  eradicate  predispositions 
that  have  been  slowly  taking  root  in  the  silence  of  innume- 
rable ages  ? — Indubitably  not.  All  that  I  contend  for  is,  that 
from  the  moment  of  the  relinquishing  all  unnatural  habits, 
no  new  disease  is  generated  ;  and  that  the  predisposition  to 
hereditary  maladies  gradually  perishes  for  want  of  its  ac- 
customed supply.  In  cases  of  consumption,  cancer,  gout, 
asthma,  and  scrofula,  such  is  the  invariable  tendency  of  a 
diet  of  vegetables  and  pure  water. 

Those  who  may  be  induced  by  these  remarks  to  give  the 
vegetable  system  a  fair  trial,  should  in  the  first  place,  date 
the  commencement  of  their  practice,  from  the  moment  of 
their  conviction.  All  depends  upon  breaking  through  a 
pernicious  habit  resolutely,  and  at  once.  Dr.  Trotterf  as- 
serts, that  no  drunkard  Avas  ever  reformed  by  gradually  re- 
linquishing his  dram.  Animal  flesh  in  its  effects  on  the 
human  stomach,  is  analogous  to  a  dram.    It  is  similar  to  the 

dustrious  labourer,  who,  by  working  in  a  small  garden,  before  and  after 
his  day's  task,  attained  to  an  enviable  state  of  independence, 

*  See  Trotter  on  the  Nervous  Temperament, 


118  NOTES. 

kind,  though  differing  in  the  degree,  of  its  operation.  The 
proselyte  to  a  pure  diet,  must  be  warned  to  expect  a  tem- 
porary diminution  of  muscular  strength.  The  subtraction 
of  a  powerful  stimulus  will  suffice  to  account  for  this  event. 
But  it  is  only  temporary,  and  is  succeeded  by  an  equable  ca- 
pability for  exertion,  far  surpassing  his  former  various  and 
fluctuating  strength.  Above  all,  he  will  acquire  an  easiness 
of  breathing,  by  which  such  exertion  is  performed,  with  a  re- 
markable exemption  from  that  painful  and  difficult  panting 
now  felt  by  almost  every  one,  after  hastily  climbing  an  or- 
dinary mountain.  He  will  be  equally  capable  of  bodily 
exertion  or  mental  application,  after  as  before  his  simple 
meal.  He  will  feel  none  of  the  narcotic  effects  of  ordinary 
diet.  Irritability,  the  direct  consequence  of  exhausting  sti- 
muli, would  yield  to  the  power  of  natural  and  tranquil  im- 
pulses. He  will  no  longer  pine  under  the  lethargy  of  e/i- 
nui,  that  unconquerable  weariness  of  life,  more  to  be  dread- 
ed than  death  itself.  He  will  escape  the  epidemic  madness 
which  broods  over  its  own  injurious  notions  of  the  Deity, 
and  "  realizes  the  hell  that  priests  and  beldams  feign."  Eve- 
ry man  forms  as  it  were  his  god  from  his  own  character  ; 
to  the  divinity  of  one  of  simple  habits,  no  offering  would 
be  more  acceptable  than  the  happiness  of  his  creatures.  He 
would  be  incapable  of  hating  or  persecuting  others  for  the 
love  of  God.  He  will  find,  moreover,  a  system  of  simple 
diet  to  be  a  system  of  perfect  epicurism.  He  will  no  longer 
be  incessantly  occupied  in  blunting  and  destroying  those 
organs  from  which  he  expects  his  gratification.  The  plea- 
sures of  taste  to  be  derived  from  a  dinner  of  potatoes,  beans, 
peas,  turnips,  lettuces,  with  a  dessert  of  apples,  gooseber- 
ries, strawberries,  currants,  raspberries,  and,  in  winter, 
oranges,  apples,  and  pears,  is  far  greater  than  is  supposed. 
Those  who  wait  until  they  can  eat  this  plain  fare  with  the 
sauce  of  appetite  will  scarcely  join  with  the  hypocritical 
sensualist  at  a  lord  mayor's  feast,  who  declaims  against  the 
s  pleasures  of  the  table.  Solomon  kept  a  thousand  concu- 
bines, and  owned  in  despair  that  all  was  vanity.  .{  The  man 
whose  happiness  is  constituted  by  the  society  of  one  amia- 
ble woman,  would  find  some  difficulty  in  sympathizing 
with  the  disappointment  of  this  venerable  debauchee.  3 

I  address  myself  not  only  to  the  young  enthusiast,  the 
ardent  devotee  of  truth  and  virtue,  the  pure  and  passionate 
moralist,  yet  unvitiated  by  the  contagion  of  the  world.  He 
will  embrace  a  pure  system,  from  its  abstract  truth,  its  beau- 

!rW>^     X/V-C/>      $UA     (k^JnUUfr     v« 
I 

1  C\    s* 


NOTES.  119 

ty,  its  simplicity,  and  its  promise  of  wide-extended  benefit : 
unless  custom  has  turned  poison  into  food,  he  will  hate  the 
brutal  pleasures  of  the  chase  by  instinct ;  it  will  be  a  con- 
templation full  of  horror  and  disappointment  to  his  mind, 
that  beings  capable  of  the  gentlest  and  most  admirable  sym- 
pathies, should  take  delight  in  the  death-pangs  and  last  con- 
vulsions of  dying  animals.  The  elderly  man,  whose  youth 
has  been  poisoned  by  intemperance,  or  who  has  lived  with 
apparent  moderation,  and  is  afflicted  with  a  variety  of  pain- 
ful maladies,  would  find  his  account  in  a  beneficial  change, 
produced  without  the  risk  of  poisonous  medicines.  The 
mother,  to  whom  the  perpetual  restlessness  of  disease,  and 
unaccountable  deaths  incident  to  her  children,  are  the  cau- 
ses of  incurable  unhappiness,  would  on  this  diet  experience 
the  satisfaction  of  beholding  their  perpetual  health  and  na- 
tural playfulness  * 

The  most  valuable  lives  are  daily  destroyed  by  diseases, 
that  it  is  dangerous  to  palliate  and  impossible  to  cure  by 
medicine.  How  much  longer  will  man  continue  to  pimp 
for  the  gluttony  of  death,  his  most  insidious,  implacable, 
and  eternal  foe  ? 

"  You  apply  the  term  wild  to  lions,  panthers,  and  ser- 
pents, yet  in  your  own  savage  slaughters,  you  far  surpass 
them  in  ferocity,  for  the  blood  shed  by  them  is  a  matter  of 

necessity,  and  requisite  for  their  subsistence. 

********** 

"  That  man  is  not  by  nature  destined  to  devour  animal 
food,  is  evident  from  the  construction  of  the  human  frame, 
which  bears  no  resemblance  to  wild  beasts  or  birds  of  prey. 
Man  is  not  provided  with  claws  or  talons,  with  sharpness  of 
fang  or  tusk,  so  well  adapted  to  tear  and  lacerate ;  nor  is  his 
stomach  so  well  braced  and  muscular,  nor  his  animal  spi- 
rits so  warm  as  to  enable  him  to  digest  this  solid  mass  of 

*  See  Mr.  Newton's  book.  His  children  are  the  most  beautiful  and 
healthy  creatures  it  is  possible  to  conceive  ;  the  girls  are  perfect  models 
for  a  sculptor ;  their  dispositions  are  also  the  most  gentle  and  conciliating; 
the  judicious  treatment  which  they  experience  in  other  points,  may  be  a 
co-relative  cause  of  this.  In  the  first  five  years  of  their  life,  of  18,000 
children  that  are  born,  7.500  die  of  various  diseases,  and  how  many  more 
of  those  that  survive  are  not  rendered  miserable  by  maladies  not  imme- 
diately mortal  ?  The  quality  and  quantity  of  a  woman's  milk  are  mate- 
rially injured  by  the  use  of  dead  flesh.  In  an  island,  near  Iceland,  where 
no  vegetables  are  to  be  got,  the  children  invariably  die  of  tetanus,  before 
they  are  three  weeks  old,  and  the  population  is  supplied  from  the  main 
land. — Sir  G.  Mackenzie's  Hist,  of  Iceland.  See  also  Emile,  chap.  i. 
p.  53,  54,56. 


120  NOTES. 

animal  flesh.  On  the  contrary,  nature  has  made  his  teeth 
smooth,  his  mouth  narrow,  and  his  tongue  soft ;  and  has 
contrived  by  the  slowness  of  his  digestion,  to  divert  him 
from  devouring  a  species  of  food  so  ill  adapted  to  his  frame 
and  constitution.  But  if  you  still  maintain,  that  such  is 
your  natural  mode  of  subsistence,  then  follow  nature  in 
your  mode  of  killing  your  prey,  and  employ  neither  knife, 
hammer,  or  hatchet,  but  like  wolves,  bears,  and  lions,  seize 
an  ox  with  your  teeth,  grasp  a  boar  round  the  body,  or  tear 
asunder  a  lamb  or  a  hare,  and  like  the  savage  tribe,  devour 
them  still  panting  in  the  agonies  of  death. 

"  We  carry  our  luxury  still  farther  by  the  variety  of  sau- 
ces aud  seasonings  which  we  add  to  our  beastly  banquets, 
mixing  together  oil,  wine,  honey,  pickles,  vinegar,  and  Sy- 
rian and  Arabian  ointments  and  perfumes,  as  if  we  intend- 
ed to  bury  and  embalm  the  carcases  on  which  we  feed.  The 
difficulty  of  digesting  such  a  mass  of  matter  reduced  in  our 
stomachs  to  a  state  of  liquefaction  and  putrefaction,  is  the 
source  of  endless  disorders  in  the  human  frame. 

"  First  of  all,  the  wild  mischievous  animals  were  select- 
ed for  food,  and  then  the  birds  and  fishes  were  dragged  to 
slaughter ;  next  the  human  appetite  directed  itself  against 
the  laborious  ox,  the  useful  and  fleece-bearing  sheep,  and 
the  cock,  the  guardian  of  the  house.  At  last  by  this  prepa- 
ratory discipline,  man  became  matured  for  human  massa- 
cres, slaughters  and  wars."  Plautus. 


THE   END. 


